been climbing trees i´ve skinned my knees
my hands are black the sun is going down
she scruffs my hair in the kitchen steam
she´s listening to the dream i weaved today
crosswords through the bathroom door
while someone sings the theme-tune to the news
and my sister buzzes through the room leaving perfume in the air
and that´s what triggered this.
i come back here from time to time
i shelter here some days.

a high-back chair. he sits and stares
a thousand yards and whistles
marching-band (boom-ching)
kneeling by and speaking up
he reaches out and i take a
massive hand. disjointed tales
that flit between short trousers
and a full dress uniform
and he talks of people ten years
gone like i´ve known them all my life
like scattered black ´n´ whitesa?¦.