Strange invaders of my air
They permeate without a care
Their yesterdays are, oh, so close
But time was never this verbose
And waves, they wash upon the feet
Of almost everyone they meet
To cleanse away the dirt with spells
Made liquid gold, the story tells
Look down to see the hex emerge
And not too soon, so close the verge
Strangeness seems the order day
Will someone take the smoke away
As much as we might shout and bawl
Tis wasted, roaring, screaming, all
Opaque will be the norm from now
No-one knowing when, or how
The young, the old, eventually
Some will hear and others see
Yet there he stands, enigma true
Can he be me, can he be you
©25th April 2011 Hey Hey
For Jono
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