the harmony of their songs ached us down the night lanes, and we, the shadow boys, with our pub side pasties, fired in the Band of Hope, kissed the girls and told each other, tomorrow, yes, tomorrow, we will.
The music and the sunlight upon the throne of dawn. I might not, then again I might; the cat stifles a yawn. We close knit our eyes in the sunrise, and surmise, surmise, surmise; why does fur slink upon a sunbeam? Why is a dream a dream?
the owls are insisting down the backyards of the night; the tram wheels are zinging on metal corners shining bright. carry the last ones home to bed, carry the day down, day down light, for the owls are insisting it's death to who? to who? in the darkness of their night.