Sid Bartram awoke one fine summer morning feeling distinctly uneasy. He had no real reason for feeling so. He had enjoyed a relaxing weekend, mainly...
He watches as the blind descends, shutting out the street The light claws at the dark fabric, noise hurls itself at the window But falls back senseless and fluttering
They left me standing With the wind whipping the fields Amd tyres crunching on gravel Left in those long, yellow corridors Where metal clashed on metal Voices echoed distantly