Pretty keen - yes, my hobby keeps me busy;
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and if I talk to myself, what's the crime?
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In the darkroom I am a dealer in space and time...
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when all memory is mellowed,
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when the photograph is yellowed,
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still it never lies.
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There you are, your eyes laced with secret pleasure,
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saying that you're on the way to change,
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devouring in inordinate measure
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every diversion that's arranged.
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For every appetite, a cruel attraction,
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but there's a panic in your actions;
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oh, I never saw you look so strange.
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Fixing memory chemically,
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holding time on the stop-clock,
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hanging back from that last frame
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just in case it didn't show you
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in the way I used to know you...
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I thought you'd always stay the same.
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The red light, the silver,
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the black and the bromide;
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the silence, the waiting for overview....
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The past seems under-exposed, low tide,
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but still the images ghost through.
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And you're there in the bath,
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which is all this has led to,
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and I can't say your path
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is a right one to choose....
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But then
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I only have a negative of you.
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Last Frame
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| Van Der Graaf Generator |
