Been climbing trees I've skinned my knees

My hands are black the sun is going down

She scruffs my hair in the kitchen steam

She's listening to the dream I weaved today

Crosswords through the bathroom door

While someone sings the theme-tune to the news

And my sister buzzes through the room leaving perfume in the air

And that's what triggered this.

I come back here from time to time

I shelter here some days.

A high-back chair. He sits and stares

A thousand yards and whistles

Marching-band (Boom-ching)

Kneeling by and speaking up

He reaches out and I take a

Massive hand. Disjointed tales

That flit between short trousers

And a full dress uniform

And he talks of people ten years

Gone like I've known them all my life

Like scattered black 'n' whites...