❖ The faces all around me they don't smile they just crack
Waiting for our ship to come but our ships not coming back
We do our time like pennies in a jar
What are we saving for
There's a smell of stale fear that's reeking from our skins.
The drinking never stops because the drinks absolve our sins
We sit and grow our roots into the floor
But what are we waiting for?
“It was a grey day of the kind often found at the too-brilliant start of early summer. Clouds scudded nose to tail across the sky, though it was not raining and the breeze was quite warm. Nevertheless, the eaves and the roof cracks magnified the sighing and moaning of the vagrant wind. The day seemed ill at ease; the treetops in the distance seemed to shift and shudder nervously.” Name Surname (c)