Tonight New Cross is in remission,
curled up together in a hole, full
of gin and joint and love to keep
us going on. There are those wet
nights like these, you just drop
the needle in the track, take that
swig, neck it, smoke your mind out
to a different place, and think more
about a girl, waiting in another
hollow like this. Looking out into
the night, you're going to come down
in a jet, clouded over, pale, but
stronger than glass or guitar strings,
to run and not fall down, to sweep
up anything you had left, and when
its time, just to fall down with her.
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