This drug she has to take
to make things better
it creeps through blood
to her mind
a fizzing sherbet tablet
trying to erase yesterday
but she resists
she will not let it bid
this lithium
and it's been like this for a while
sometimes i lose patience
drink a bit too much
sniff a pocket of cocaine
then fall asleep
with her memory
and the past
the rush of 1991
my girl running
in white linen
freckle proud
a sunny day
heatstroke passions
1991!
not that long ago
she was so beautiful then
but these days
well
i found her tonight
when I got home from work
amongst scattered music
and coloured vinyl
it was strewn across the carpet
echoes of party games
from the Pomagne era
where you had to stretch
'i'm looking for a Jam song'
'English Rose' she said
i knew where it was
as only I would
in my special box
its a butterfly of a song
she played it eight times
before I asked her to stop
she turned the volume down
and then clung to me tightly
she let go after a while
to make some tea
in her new confused kitchen
i went for a walk and a cigarette
some thinking time
that's where I am now
its cold
and its going to get colder
i could walk away from this
i will not
i cannot let her go
she is the best of all of us
a brilliant mind
that makes the heart beat
even now
let me explain
my girl is a prisoner of the horrific
seen more of it than most
she wants no prizes
like some
she was in Oregan
miles away
when the towers of bedlem
crushed another
she had to go south
to get out
she was with the dead of Pittsburgh
when they were laid to rest
amongst the brown leaves
of California
mothers brothers lovers
screaming with loss
she held their hands
laid their flowers
pulled their punches
until finally she was bruised
and counted out
to this lithium
its so hard
belief is everything
the doctor says
how ironic
but I do have faith
that she will come home
my red headed wonder
one day
to share chips on the night bus
to drink us all under the table again
to backchat the back chatters
to run with the hunted
give them shelter
catch all the falling stars
that know no better
to sort the poets from the parasites
the takers from the givers
for she is my English Rose
and I'll love her
more than this
yes she is so beautiful
always will be
I squash my cigarette
and open the door
she has turned the volume up
