Been climbing trees I’ve skinned my knees
My hands are black the sun is going down
She scruffs my hair in the kitchen steam
She’s listening to the dream I weaved today
Cross(-)words through the bathroom door
While someone sings the theme tune to the news
And my sister buzzes through the room leaving
perfume in the air
And that’s what triggered this
I come back here from time to time
I shelter here some days

A high-back chair he sits and stares
A thousand yards and whistles marching band
Kneeling by and speaking up
He reaches out and I take a massive hand
Disjointed tales that fl it between short trousers
and a full dress uniform
And he talks of people ten years gone
Like I’ve known them all my life
Like scattered black ‘n’ whites….