It's another cold London night. I wrap this head around my shoulders tight. Please excuse me, seems there's someone at my door. I wouldn't leave but the need is so much more.
I am waiting for a man. To collect me from the station. He will drive me past your house. And the bridge and the precinct. . Later on he'll stuff my mouth.
Sigh your children. Who have we?. All our lives & countless years. When your world. A glass heart aches. Wraps us unheard, unscathed. Will we, your children.