The background buzz, the lo-fi hum,
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The fallen saviors beat their ritual drums.
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Their eyes alive with destiny -
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Sweet delusions, which serve to set us free.
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The bar room bids for tarts with hearts,
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The dumbed down kids in souped up cars.
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The clapped out lovers on their guard -
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Smaller details written large.
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Her sun-kissed skin caught in your frame,
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You know you'll never pass this way again.
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You wash the dirt out of your hair.
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You find the words you need when no-one's there.
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The moments lost.
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The distant stars.
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-----------------
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Pigeon Drummer
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| No-Man |
