Lightning
Mitchelhill has gone now,
No more forks of yellow from forty clouds,
No more 5 times round the roundabout,
No more Bruce Lee, Cavalears or fender sounds,
Just echos of Santana off Castlemilk's ground.
Memories
Seem to build like thunder clouds
And just one spark can let the sadness out
Like lighning
Seen by all around
Hard to ignore
There's a memory behind every one of Glasgow's doors,
Seems I can't escape that thing I've been searching for,
Seems this ring on my hand is the weight pullin me to the floor,
So,
How do I get passed the memory clouds and out the door?
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