learning to read and write
learning to take the punches
but not those in a bowl
i am lost at the bus stop
the bus never came

the things we built
and to all those dreams
that we yield
they are as empty,
as a jar of broken promises
as empty as an open field

the sponge is okay
they soak it all up
they help you move on
they soak up the emotion
they soak up the tears

tonight is good
tonight is okay
the rain is shallow
but tonight i will let it in
it does not need to feel hollow

those that gave you imagination
and something to believe in
will be your contamination

you are a million pounds
i am a few pence
you are all the beautiful sounds
i am just the interference

back to the town
its victorian limb
stretches out,
and paddles in the estuary

i am the sum of my experience
but it does not add up
your face is a boat race
but i do not like your boat race

making friends and believing
age came quick
it is not long before you wear a mature suit
because the child one no longer fits