into cool light
In a small green suitcase
I have placed my dreams.
The sun pulls me to you
Why have you stopped pretending to be a town?
We can only talk in whispers
While we look out the window of regret.
I love your italic face
But the hour of our youth has departed
I know its late in the day
Now the sun has escaped from me.
But people appeared not to notice
It was all very British.