The Decline

My garden is quiet
The dead are alive
They're hurting for feeling
Their heads touch the ceiling

The glass is all broken
The landscape is wasted
The passion devoured
Its nearly the hour

The sky is collapsing
The walls are so tall
The ground is all twisted
I'm eating my sister

The colour is reddening
I can't go to bed again
I saw you flicker on a picture
I saw you attacking a man
In Vietnam.
The hour of decline

Martin Bowes