Nelson

That night I'm in Trafalgar Square
To stand still and see the column in the centre. Struck
Again by that strange realisation that you look like Nelson
That Nelson looks like you, and I can't quite see why.
Maybe cos you're tall. Maybe cos your eyes are grey.
Maybe cos you spent your weekdays silently eroding from the rain and strain and quiet pain
Of living under too much shit for too much time
Too high.

Maybe cos my eyesight's crap and it's just really fucking cold out here in winter.

That night I climb the column
And halfway up I meet some angel in a grey gown who tells me that
You're still pretty, still as witty as you ever were
That you said to keep it going
Tell your mother not to worry
Tell your brother don't be sorry
For not getting there in time.

I climb on up
Cos God I miss that charm you've got
That smells like smoke and tastes like ash
And sounds like smashed glasses on black grass at midnight
Stings like our dusk 'til dawns with cheap red wine
And Charlie Chaplin in 'Modern Times'
Something,
Incidentally,
I still enjoy
Though for a song called 'Smile' I can't think why it makes me cry.

And higher
Cos if Nelson isn't you
If you're not Nelson
At least it takes me
Fifty one point five nine meters
Closer to paradise.

At the top
Old Nelson's made of stone
And he won't so much as crack
A smile.
But I'm a mile high
And the angel grey is at my side
And he says he'll pass this message on to you.