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(The Walker)

He walks along these cold stone streets

He barely passes another soul.

The wind blowing through his hair

Blowing it across or back, it doesn't matter which

A long black coat trails out behind, blown back or around by the wind

Turning a corner,

Another street,

Another name.

Same feeling. Same wind.

Same stone cold

Everything constantly changing,

But mostly staying the same.

And down another street into the gloom, he walks

And/Walking through the gloom he comes.

Five thoughts passing through his head.

Constantly changing and intermingling

Never clear. Never certain.

Just determined to think something.

When the rain comes it passes over him

Gently covering him or pounding down upon him

The rain is at one with him

The wind and the rain and the gloom all join together

To create the perfect evening for the walker.

And as a single tear trickles (slowly) down his cheek

He thinks.

As he thinks all five thoughts converge

To a single point (of purpose).

And as a single tear trickles (slowly) down his cheek

He thinks "Bollocks, I'm fucking bored of this".


He walks

by Shred