'Pathetic Fallacy'
If there will ever be a day,
when we don’t like what you say,
when your emotions are at bay,
then maybe things will change,
perhaps change into lanes.
All the things we’ve been through now,
doubts, love, hate, the good, bad and the row,
then maybe they might allow,
for just one last recital,
of which I will choose the title.
When Oscar wrote about the portrait,
I don’t think he meant us to stay up late,
talking about what music can create,
we never quite decided,
instead in hot summer we glided.
Plucking therapeutically away,
all the torments of that dreadful day,
notes formed the words that would not obey,
as the dew settled on the grass,
we decided humanity was at its last.
So as the dusk turned into thick night,
we got round to our desperate plight,
what was wrong, what was right,
the dust settled on the floor,
and the elegant hand was written raw.
