A Dear Green Place

This is no dream, these ghosts are no illusion

Vandals, kids and thieves

Although we often curse them, we praise them for their wisdom

As I try to believe what I've read on bus shelters

Cos that is where the poets don't disguise their accents

I don't dream, how could I ever dream

When my nightmares are entrances wholly enclosed, started and angry my palms are cold, stumbling around in my dream

He said, she said

I don't sing this for them, but for a bunch of my own heroes

My weather boy

These clouds they make me love you more

We sang you songs you gave us more

You say that's what your there for

But your more than that

Your the light

The wisecracking sidekicks with knives at their throats

The sidesplitting tell-tales of harbours and ghosts

Moonlight sonatas with angels and demons and girls and their droves waving kisses to heathens

Street walking send ups with glints in their eyes

The smell of stale alcohol lining their sighs

Saboteurs and swindlers all cast aside

Diving through orchards to surrender their loots

A mass in our hearts as we pray for your loss

Arriving with pity to plunder your feast

Aloof and self-righteous we all read the tale and tussled for ways we could all shift the blame

Sweet bittersweet are the sounds and the sights, bitter and sweet is the sum of our lives.