There he goes, my baby walks so slow, sexual tic-tac-toe, yeah I know we both know it isn’t time, but could you be mine?

A spark soaring down through the pouring rain and restoring life to the lighthouse.

June was the lobster shell I dug by hand; a haven that hid me well beneath the sand.

So close your eyes, for that’s a lovely place to be. 

Hands up in the suburbs if you want to be alone.