1.The Victory Of Buckets And Doors
My childhood, lopsided, crumbs, trouble, clear-sighted and
leaning up against the wall.
We'd Sellotape the apples back on while they were ripe, sticking
to our story every time.
We stood there, same mischief, same background, shame-chagrin
with hands behind our backs and our eyes faced down.
We'd celebrate the victory of buckets and doors, smiling all the
way out the front door.
How I longed to hold her hand, how I longed to touch her face,
how I longed to hear a sound, come from that phone, from far
across the town.
That night when all went to hell I thought we'd never see the
thorns pulled out of our poor old toes.
We'd imitate the noises that we thought we should make, shouting
at the wind and our mistakes.
How I longed to touch her hand, how I longed to see her face,
how i longed to hear a sound, come from that voice, from far
across the land.
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