For beauty’s found inside abandoned sheds
Filled by strange tools for romantic future use
We are sitting on the silent ledge, no winds
The past is partial, fragmented
Tainted by the moment’s colour

For nostalgia is wonder
Stripped down, purified and unattainable
Instinctive learning, sending searchlights for signs
Excited by the unknown, that’s still familiar enough
Chasing shadows, shadows close enough to smell
Dangled cheese upon a string, we run faster backwards

A love towards the sun, though out of no past need
We have discovered that looking up, it’s painful to see
Further out into the past light years away
A past we can conceive, like television static
Whilst too tone deaf to hear the echoes
From our basements and high attics
Spending the moment, doing nothing
Wondering what’s next, trying to remember

What had happened to that first night’s takeaway
Once gleaming white, clear rice
Left to mould and rot, slowly disintegrate
Into a state of great neglect

The shelves here have been growing, hoarding
Pepper, spice and all things nice
Towers toppled, falling, from preparations of
A future vice

Statues growing hands, they are looking through dry
Ancient eyes
Here the floor’s been rising..