The new car is going to take a while to get used to, it's a radical change from my small car, a bit more luxury in my life; a life of driving, lived out more safely, for the rest of my working days.
The corners seem a good deal smoother, the rough road surface feels considerably less rough, the music is markedly clearer, the whole thing then way more luxurious.
A tiny yellow breasted bird flies across the road, from hedge to hedge; the highway is almost empty, myself, and one other car, travelling in the opposite direction.
There is a peace, a calm, a sense of quiet; I feel to be cruising, I feel to be at ease, I feel less stressed, about the two hours journey ahead.
My partner helped me with the purchase, I sense she felt the need to let me off the hook; to somehow take a second look at what we both needed.
And perhaps through the all of this you have been banished, perhaps your ability to influence my emotions is critically weakened.
Yes there, up in the blue sky, your essence is almost vanquished; yet still my insincerity bell occasionally goes off, cynically seeking out how:
To turn off the light
To burn out the ether
To wonder, with insight
How I managed without either
Still we follow the tractor
Still we follow the trailer
Still I think of the time
I wrote postcards to mail her
We've past the minor distraction
Heading out to a future attraction
A flashback to a Worthing morning
The Cuban music vividly blowing
The hedgerows are growing to green
Stained grey clouds fade to blue
We're approaching the airport now
I think of those flights, I think of you
It is the second escape
I don't have to wait
For the boarding card
Or the opening of the gate
It's all in the mind you see
These thoughts of you and me
Those times, not now meant to be
It's all in the mind you see
I drive by the passenger terminal
Without a second glance
My thoughts; subliminal, ethereal
You see I know I've had my best chance
I've turned the stereo up, a notch or two
Nostalgia, listening to the old words
To remember that I sat in a modern space
Writing out my lustful thoughts of you
Those words were the old times
The fast lines, not so fast as once forgotten
Those words were the old rhymes
The sort sighs, not short now of going rotten
Almost at the motorway, struth
A cocoon of sounds
That round me back to my youth
No need anymore for truth
When it's only my words that happen
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