What Was Real Becomes Imagined
Circling in the swinging rounds
Sleeping in the busy train
Of the London Underground
Missing over and again
Escalators that deliver
Upwards to the rainy street
Interrupted dream will quiver
Falling down under feet
What was real, becomes imagined
More amorphous, less greater
Undeniably nostalgic
Though I will deny it later
I return to where I’m bound
Leaning on the rails it’s me
But you’re nowhere to be found
Though it’s only you I see.
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