Time is mist not mine - morning,
noon, late?
Grey, grotesque and weary.
Yet, in ways cheeky and cheery.
A duvet of damp tingly cold air.
Are there magical universes out there?
Yet, in ways cheeky and cheery.
A duvet of damp tingly cold air.
Are there magical universes out there?
Time has stopped – its
morning, not noon, nor late.
Time is endless – it’s noon, not late.
Dense, dark and dimming, .
But becoming fluffy and fading.
A safe bubble for the elves inside my head.
But becoming fluffy and fading.
A safe bubble for the elves inside my head.
A world for my darkest dreams to spread.
Time is mine not mist – morning, noon, late?
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