Glossies

Before bombs split the land
When it was Eddie-Stobart-green
When you were chasing out the tribes
Like some Roman centurion
Would you walk the Cheddar Gorge?
Or would you be the first born
Falling from Albina's womb
In an electrical storm?

Stain glass Latin lit by the lolloping sun
Or a great suburban fire somewhere out there
I used to see my peninsula
But the fog has obscured it into a distant blur

You're flicking through the glossies

Lounging on the mincer belt
Yeah, as we crash against the cliffs
In a flash of white lightning
Barefoot, walking through the watercress bed
And your mother's in the Wrens
Collapse the history in on itself, why not?
Well, it's all we can do, isn't it?

Fallen arches, acres of land
Park swans, Roman amphitheatres
Knock down and rebuild for all the fast food lovers
Talking about cricket on a jittery locomotive in the wind