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letra de flat of angles part 3 - benedict cumberbatch

i’ll miss you
i’ll miss our walks
trying to pretend we are in perfect step
out of step now
sick on the floor
out of the room
fenced in, trapped
i can still hear the schoolchildren play outside at their usual 10: 30
it always used to annoy me, as i was trying to sleep, but it doesn’t now
it seems alright
a replacement, a continuation
their sound jangles around the room
it sounds so different from where i’ve been
a party, alone
packed in with others, but never feeling so alone
people dance too close
she was there, i had only gone because i hoped she would be
i had arrived early, as the the streetlights were coming on
so i took a long walk around the block
taking a few extra lefts and rights
past the chicken cottage and the costcutter
then along a crescent that arced me out of my way
past a group of figures huddled
under the entrance to the flats
shielding the fl1cking lighter from the wind
this… area is little more
than a traffic island
a triangle around which cars and coaches stream into town up the bleak old kent
or out into kent and the coast
the same faces trudge around there for yeas
“spare some change please? much as possible.”
“you want to buy some weed.”
“do you have a spare cigarette?”
he always wants one
and that one about weed was not a question
there is a samaritans office between two everely dilapidated buildings on a black-bricked terrace
it has a thermometer painted on a 10 ft wooden board nailed to the outside
there is red paint up to the £0 mark, and, an ambitious 10 ft higher
is written £200, 000
it never got any warmer there
the man begging in the corner makes me take a huge detour when going towards my flat
he looks up with a pitiful stare that makes me want to kick the misery out of him
his dipit wee cup of unwanted coffee
a child’s sleeping bag
jjb sports
a crack, a release, his poor exhaust
he was lost
the broadway
the town hall, such a grand building, all nautical reminiscences, here, far from water
it would be quite a sight if you could get far back enough from it to take a look
but my back is up against the black panelling of the g-y sauna opposite
a coach thunders by, and i run past the video shop that i owe £5 to
meaning go way back
i may be becoming one of those people you see in new cross
i have a book, peeping out of one pocket, at least want to look vaguely intellectual if someone i know
or worse, someone who knows me walks by
i throw down the finish can into the pile between two walls, outside my flat
look, there’s the hardware store
it has a large cutout of a radiant man and woman in overalls
the woman handing the man a tin of paint, up his ladder, beaming
it has faded in the sun
i bought creosote from there, once
what a night!
pure ment.!
it was messy!
it was out of hand! it was out of sp-ce!
i rapped on that track once, at bagley’s, remember it?!
skibbadee handed me the mic
i got to shout “i’m gonna send him to outer sp-ce to fiiind another race!”
absolutely fantastic, those days…
the pills these days are not the same, they don’t work
no love

- benedict cumberbatch

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