Μη μου τους κυκλους ταρασσε

It’s a true story I’ll tell you
It happened once at a nearby town
A town you know
You stop by every now and then
You know someone who’s born there
You’ve heard about it once on tv
A town like yours and mine.


T’was an empty house
In an empty town
Empty of eyes
Eyes that see beneath
Those that penetrate the look
A greyish house
The grey of blue industrial ennui
Cold colour mostly white around


T’was a song in a head
Going round n round
When no one was listening
A trumpet
The warm sound of troubles
The dim light of misery; smiles
Again and again, again


Climbing up the chimney
There were some words
Cross-eyed mixed up words
For anyone listening
Some left behind
Clutched on to unanticipated clusters of ashes
Some making it up
Reaching the top
Strangely untouched
Strangely free


Of all the causes
Of all the troubles
The words were lonelier
And far belittled
Once told forever worthless
As secrets of teenage youth
Mostly angry mostly mistakenly held


Were crossing the sky and flying
Meeting up ol’ friends
From all kinds of chimneys around town
Catching up
Crying even
Words revisiting.

Revelations.
Reservations. And all that.