No more do the streets lay silent with no sound.

Dark, damp passages are ignited by light.

Silent corridors flushed with human wails,

Slogans of a lively night.



The sleepless birds fly through the once coal-black air.

Shining and shimmering, not by moonlight

But lamp-lit under starfilled skies,

flying in and out of false city-centre trees,



Lofty silhouettes, a jet black horizon of piano keys.

All the while, the music of the bottom-of-the-glass lovers

reigns supreme. Jackals and hyena's of a European city,

laughing in the their abnormal home, not at home themselves.



Sometimes... when this side of the morning, and the afternoon,

evening and night turn blue with unkind ice.

And the streets lay lulled, empty and devoid of life

There is little to punish the ears, unlistening.



If a drunk stumbles over a cobble, do they make a noise here?



Rivers, streams, esturies and sea's collect in the sky, falling

all around as the seascape pours powerfully towards the floor.

Down to the Beat of God. Hitting the tallest first

and the smallest, hardest.



Car Parks drown in the whisper of watery bullets,

Arks of late night taxi's, collect the strays.

Other strays, stare out, lonely and frightened as

the shadowy black cats cuddle the comfort of the corners.



Dusk. And the grey heavens continue to leak

the sound of an ambient album.

Umbrella's & Headphones. For early-rising businessmen

Stepping over drains soaking up the background noise.



But, just like the Great war when the guns would fall silent.

The last shell of Scotch mist sees the emergence of light & life.

Across the weather field, people and places occupy the surrendered landscape,

God relinquishes in the knowledge that'¦ for a few seconds'¦there was blissful quietude.

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