Autumn Sea

Somewhere in the autumn sea

The kind of love you are to me

I stole you

From a very special friend

So the friendship had to end

And how

You can't kill relationships

Watch them drown like sinking ships

Around you

But to live is to betray

Every second every day

Oh wow

Here comes the now

Somewhere in the autumn air

I can smell you everywhere

Beside me

Though your face has disappeared

Finally, I know I cared

For you

As the leaf falls in the sea

Slips the sand of memory

Inside me

Rows of lights flash off and on

Finally I see you've gone

It's true

What can I do?

[Spoken]

"Hunting? No, I think it's a perfectly beastly sport!" quipped Frobisher as they leaned on the

mantlepiece over the crisp autumn fire.

Featherstonehaugh felt his calves warming pleasantly as the brandy seeped below his waist:

knotting slightly over the abdomen, suddenly passing back up through the spine,

causing a small trickle of the otherwise pleasing brown fluid to shoot from the fontanel on top of his head

which landed on top of the other guy's head

(I've forgotten his name now... aw, anyway, he got covered in it).

"Aw, what's this?"

"Some kind of fluid," said Featherstonehaugh.

"Fluid?Oh, that's the tops!"

Somewhere in the autumn sky

Cross my heart and swear to die

I chose you

Trails burning everywhere

Sulfur fingers in the air

I scream

Brambles swarm around the fence

Everything in deep suspense

I froze you

Out, but it's your point of view

I am just somebody who has been

Into your dream

[Spoken]

"No, they use them for clothes pegs, you know!"

continued Featherstonehaugh, somewhat more droll.

"Really?" said Butterworth, who was feeling rather left out of the conversation.

"Oh yes, that's right, you know,

they pick them up in Siberia and bring them over."

"Siberia!" interjected the fellow whose name I still can't remember.

"Topping place! Went there once. Found a little moustache.

One of the Russkies had it. Wah ha ha!

Took it home, don't you know. Showed the little lady. Hrrmph.

She put it on.Left me for another woman.Hmmm.

Rum things, lefts.And women."

He was left alone:there was no one there, not even a woman,

just the fireplace and his ever swelling chins.

As the brandy began taking lethal effect, Featherstonehaugh (or was it Butterworth?

Or was it the other guy whose name I can't remember?) found himself slowly turning into

some kind of helpless, diseased houseplant.

As he watched his future and his past gradually become interchangeable like a highway surrounding a drunken man

that begins to spin, he looked up above him.

Even the angels were asleep.It was one of those nights.

Ahhh.October.