Head

I can sit here in this glass room at the top of the world
Looking down on myself and all the other night crawlers
I can pass judgment in my thoughts as if they were to blame
For all of my body reaction
Complexity don’t mean nothing to the call of the wild
Asking for nothing but expecting the world
So fragile so stringent so that’s what it’s all about
Never catching the rhythm tongue touching the lime
Awake at the end of the dopamine line
I can see clearly why my sleep idolises
The shape of your hips the rise of your spine
Against the hands of the clock the oestrogen mine
Where the awe of the digging
Brings the future to mind

November 2011