Days In The Rain

Days in the rain

Down to Josephine's house for tea

French toast and Elvis

French kisses for a boy called me

Scrumping apples in Harrow

Throwing fallers at black Austin cars

Lemon-ices at De La Mura's

Plotting my life by the stars

And I remember the scent of my father's Christmas cigar

Traces of lives

Like gold -dust in a museum of rooms

In the corner the black and white television

blinking like a prophet of doom

And I remember my father falling like a stone from the moon

It's all in the past

It's all in the photographs

It all looks familiar, but we don't know the places

We know that we love them

But we cannot put names to the faces

Those faces -- those beautiful faces

Days in the rain

Bruises and powerful scars

I swollowed a sixpence

Someone said: " Who'd you think you are? "

And I remember the scent of my father's Christmas cigar