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letra de almond - stephen fretwell

oh lover, when i saw you there
years before the ash was rinsed out of your hair
i was framing up a photograph
of a starboy with a cigarette smoking
and on the curbside at parliament square
i caught a dancehall song in your eyeb-lls the first time
you and you pulse, the crowds blankly stare
before i saw a chicken bone shaking
and a cigarette smoking

black summer in your straw-hot hair
long summer wondering why on earth you would care
ginkgo bells, a room, a long-wave muse
silk tied your hands, the worms murmured that they adored you
gripping the railings at tavistock square
a paper lantern steals breath from the nitrous air
you tongue your t–th and move your shandy-sweet hair
in a fresh of rain there is a chicken box floating
and a love song is croaking
and a cigarette is smoking

dance unconvinced in the tropical bar
pale almond in the moonlit, crazed hour
the eyes of the loft on the c-n-l swoon
they twist their fat necks, they move to seduce you
stare at the pink clock on windrush square
hidden from a party, black tears stain, lycra tear
you see under the water, there is another of you
on the surface water there is a white paper wrap floating
and look, the pink clock is going
ah, the fresh morning
funny how you don’t notice pigment leaving clothes
all the toothward smiles have creased the soft paws on your fawn nose
full lips are scared talking in the quietest of rooms
sat alone in the green park as the air cools
walk high and pull-pull-pull back your warm brown hair
and it’s tied politely for the party, the top stair
black cotton delicately hangs your hips
live from a silver phone plays a song from our childhood
it goes la la, la la la, la la
it goes la la, la la la, la la

what’s that mad, wild scream beneath the white clinician glare
some red scream, it disturbs the cloud jowls of the early air
shocked cream, motion par blue
you wash your legs, there is a child lay beside you
choosing a vault of flame at all saints’ square
and shake like the leaves that can’t believe the chill in the air
bruised almond skin frames a punchbag stare
and up in a tree i see a pizza box, it’s f-cking shaking

this is everything you sing
although you feel ashamed, you are amazing
and a cigarette is smoking

white privilege leaps over a wicker chair
white privilege as if it’s not even there
horses die proudly on the spanish contrast news
salt on your legs, while mamoun’s[?] beside you
in the still light of a dry heat square
dogs shake off the sea and cream birds slip through there
your name is called, you call out from your chair
and through the air a song plays from our childhood
it goes la la, la la la, la la
it goes la la, la la la, la la
i thought it was the vodka
i thought it was just the time-delay fuses
all the mitsubishi bloom dilation in your step
look at the steps, the white oil streams
the foxes are all grinning as i hold you
on some cold doorway a city girl hair
denim your lips, bottles fall and sound around you
bursting out of your pencil skirt, bursting out of nowhere
a mental band they play a song called young hearts crying
do you remember, it goes la la, la la la, la la
it goes la la, la la la, la la

peach morning in the brackening air
you force a smile at the camera in the wet air
my hands are all brown, the polish from my shoes
chalk scars your mark, the sun tries but can’t get through
ducking a horsefly there on parliament hill
the rain begins to make a pool at your warm hill
panicking the foxes where the new cubs lie
panic the earth softens, head quick to the streetlight
but the soft heat is trying
and a cigarette is smoking

- stephen fretwell

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