Idée Fixe

Now from his pocket quick he flashes,

The crayon on the wall he slashes,

Deep upon the advertising,

A single-worded poem comprised

Of four letters.

And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding,

The poem across the tracks rebounding,

Shadowed by the exit light,

His legs take their ascending flight,

To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night.

When you talk me down, I go down

When you lift me up, I jump

When the road goes on, you sail

When it cracks and burns, you bail

Noisetrade