last weather station

[wytchcroft]

In this whirling world of wild birds
Ragged feathers dot the shoreline
And there’s a life in her eyes
I can see that
Even through glass

Light under glass

It’s a very small car
And she’s driving quite fast


And there’s life behind the life in her eyes
And it’s coming on fast.

She didn’t get it from me
But I’m glad all the same
And I pray for their safety

It’s starting to rain

Dotting the shoreline
Gathered in the station
The last weather station


There’s a clang from the door
And it’s a ragged rusty sound
Amelia’s broken a nail

But that’s far from this Cornish headland
Far from me
And my friend here’s made of iron
But he sings of a tree
Spinning me tales of Lilith and Eve

In a whirling world
Of wild birds
Watch them lift off for Portugal or Gibraltar
Fast moving objects

Like a travelling car

And I don’t know the truth of things
Lost as we are

Alone on the shore
Or buried under the waves
Bearing the weight
Of a calendar day

But there’s life behind the life in her eyes
And it's a delicate hope

Though I don’t know the truth of anything

She may.