11 May 2012
I came out to morning sun they were drawing keeler hawls you pressed silent to my side breath - the salt from breeze on tide. I recall that bubble town hid away in valley's cowl climbing castles, warm month rays using up our endless days. We struck out, far from that beach traded in for city streets gave up skies for London flats dust in teeth and two black cats. Fled from silence, fled our minds now we just have noise full time. Call me sour for our friends but we screwed our gold to lead. I'm going, going, going back; no fares to Aberystwyth.
J. x
No Fares to Aberystwyth • Opuss № I