Stories from Miranda Town
Postcards from the Highway
14 Oct 2002
I've been here son long i've scratched a circle on my palm,
Like life with the shutter left open wide,
The red trails of car lights as they go past,
So fast they vanish before they come leaving me on the roadside.
I've been here so long the cut on my finger has healed,
Red subsided in the early hours leaving a hard white wall,
A cateract of nature that will soon fall away,
Turned back to the dust where all will eventually fall.
I've been here so long I've forgotten how to let go of the pen,
I see only black and white, ink that turns night to day
No mountains exist in the borders of A4
No fields exist in my mind as i send postcards from the highway
(Taken from Postcards from the highway)