That Old Town
Catching that old train
the express you and I took again and again
i find my Ipod throws up sad songs
And my mind transports me back to you.
To see those I left behind
How theyve grown and changed
But mostly how theyve stayed the same
Was good.
just good.
Some reunions do not require linguistic exploitation.
But I will not lie.
There was an absence.
Behind me on the dancefloor.
Elbow to elbow at the bar.
There are so many shadows even under spotlight.
You haunt me when I return to that old town.
Who knew geography would cause me so to regress?
There are no ghosts in London
There is no absence in these step soaked streets.
But to return, to return.
Is to stop running and to turn and greet.
So I apologise for the 2 am call.
And, I realise, for those times when I said nothing at all
When what I should have said was
Though you hurt me.
Just hurt me.
Some emotions do not require linguistic exploitation.
For a while you were my navigator
and shaped my vision.
How can I condemn that which formed me?
How could the flower ever blame the honey bee?
I would not be as aware of my laughter now
If it had not muted.
I would not be what I am now
If i had not grown.
And we grow best in dirt, as all things do.
Thoug dont misunderstand it was mot always dirty, but always enveloped in you.
You raised me.
Both to womanhood and from that grave
which I dont like to look down
But going back to that town
How could I not?
In that old town
How pointless to say do not haunt me
You're in my marrow and my stride.
In many ways you are in my smile, for who called it up so often?
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