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Who did you conjure up that night
A long time ago when you first realised
What a loser you are? How pathetic

To be guided by a soft voice so far off,
So distant in the ground that you
Almost jumped off the rain? Where to?

Why on earth did you think that
Night would re-cipher all the crypts
You left so empty behind you that night?

Where do question-marks lead you now,
Seven years after the great divide
Of north and south, west and western?

Was it the Spanish guitar that saved you
From drowning that night or did you
Simply swallow your shame, replace it with contempt?

And you still ask yourself sometimes
If free will truly exists or if you are
Just bidding your time between A and nothing?

And the arms on your clock proceed
In their usual way and you’re asking yourself
If you’ve just lost what you’re gonna miss the most.