Magpie you cheat, knave, ace of spades, you play a clever hand. If it wasn't for that blue streak I'd say you were bluffing; badger, zebra, freisian- I can't guess your secret
Behind the wallpaper the red bricks of my room are itching, they've been keeping me awake at night, grinding at their cement. I can't sleep, incase they fall on me and I can't get out.
Wind, blow me back to Trebetherick where the cows lie in the fields around Trenain like fat dominoes waiting for the rain and sharp grasses make pincushions of the dunes,
Mapped into a mouthful of day, Recorded in crunches given to ground, We mark our way in treads and sounds, here Ivy greens the memory stones, Weaving over peaceful sleeping,