Our Old Clothing
In soft grey you're there
and we sing the old songs, boys sang - now broken men,
of watering cans, of saying goodbye
before we knew what it was
to say goodbye.
- You in that red tie.
In the orange light you stroked that knife
against sheer tights.
The rope I was balancing on,
was a bloody, long way to fall,
I took it all with me -
You in that red tie.
In the blue of those memories
when they wash over me in threes,
I know I was awful, all purple hair and false pride,
and now even when I'm much better
in those ochre dungarees, adorning natural hair.
- That tie's the same.