S.P.O.C.K

Ice Machine

S.P.O.C.K


Running through my head secretly 
Shout at the boys in the factory 
I'll ring you on the telephone silently 
Like blood, like the wine in the darkroom sea 

A letter, once composed 
Seven years long and as tall as a tree 
Reading on the wall 
Efficient, efficiency 

Resurrect, as a feeling
on my window, of a past reunion 
A vision of a picture 
like the city and the air we breathe 

She stood beside me once again 
I knew her face 
We met before, in the street 
recalling all the children dancing at our feet 
Their dancing feet