The quiet sadness of the people of the North 
Echoes silently around the cold grey places 
Ecstasies undared 
Tremble upon the edge of the tightly, respectably unfulfilled 
Who drink to excess in order to forget what never happened 
Brave faces 
Well dressed ordered minds on suicide's edge 
Reflected in the rain-skimmed slate grey, battleship grey, hardship grey 

And further South, and homeless 
Here I am 
Globally altered and dishevelled 
Oh darling, I've done it all 
An antithesis of sorts 
And yet bound together and hopelessly in love 
With the inevitable loss 
And the end 
How can we run from ourselves?