The last record

In the slits and corners 

Of coves and caves

Life sprinkles it's desire

A dash of hope

A bowl of dreams 

A green end to a dark tunnel

And those colours of a sunset 

We carve and cut 

And cleave and chase 

We grope within and without 

It slips our hands 

Like grains of sand 

A wisp of smoke

A grimy roundabout 

Till she puts that last record on

And to those notes we recline

A crease on the temples

A straightened brow