I remember last Summer-
My back arched into the shape of the old couch,
and all the powders and herbs
between the fibres,
which we found between our finger nails when we dragged ourselves away.
We could laugh because
we were young;
and we were stupid
and we had no where else to be,
But we were better than that place...
We followed him there like Kings following a dog,
and we rolled
and we cried
and we destroyed
everything we had created before.
We set light to our possessions and we lived,
like the Ancient race of Romans in the Summer heat.
Until the sun fell away
and we ran off crying because we weren't going to see him again,
But we didn't go back,
'Cause if we didn't run then,
then we never would run.
And it wasn't too late to save ourselves...
But our minds are there,
In that flat where all the lost genius of the West survives,
on weed and the smoke of it's own dead future.