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IT performing, San Francisco-eying, music obsessed, Anglo-scot-yank. With a palendromic surname.

Fleeting Like Etain
My Kappa Roots

By the night we intersect, connect
and in the darkness digest.

We run, wild headlong, straight into an abattoir.

'Cause we are carnal like the carcasses.
When the coal pits sigh
and cranes in the wind are like young girls dancing.
When we tongue our ulcers
and pick the prickled flowers from the lawn.

Thats when we are dashed against the gates of desire.

We pitched, turned and yawed,
we were lone satellites in the fog.
We tumbled through the undergrowth,
bramble-babies born of a buried womb.

I guess we are carnal like the carcasses.

And she says, we are not born of the stars above,
we are but fleeting moments in the sun.
And there is no higher glory, just a quiet, human, end.