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Literature Text
london fog, you crush my dreams
replace them with the density of reality
and all that it forgives.
london fog, you picked me clean
loaded the barrel with the cigarette smoke
of your dearly departed, fired into my belly
I felt the embers of your legions burn into me
watched the crown cascade through history
you fooled the roses, torched the throne
gave way to the spirits of the sky and let loose
your unforgivable torments to the peasants and pious below.
london fog, I forgive you
placed in your towers, lucidly dreaming of peace
it had no place in King Henry's courts,
will it come to fruition this millennia?
will the escapades and smoke clear
in time for you to drift out to sea?
london fog, I love you
you birthed the dark alleys, swept the ports
calloused young men's hands, broke fair maiden's hearts
trenched favored captains in your islands, set loose the waves of discord
all in the name of your lover, the sea.
you disregard land-lovers with an easy conscious
because you know what their ends hold:
the billows of the waves
the barnacles on the bilge
the cold that creeps up my sleeves
the london fog.
replace them with the density of reality
and all that it forgives.
london fog, you picked me clean
loaded the barrel with the cigarette smoke
of your dearly departed, fired into my belly
I felt the embers of your legions burn into me
watched the crown cascade through history
you fooled the roses, torched the throne
gave way to the spirits of the sky and let loose
your unforgivable torments to the peasants and pious below.
london fog, I forgive you
placed in your towers, lucidly dreaming of peace
it had no place in King Henry's courts,
will it come to fruition this millennia?
will the escapades and smoke clear
in time for you to drift out to sea?
london fog, I love you
you birthed the dark alleys, swept the ports
calloused young men's hands, broke fair maiden's hearts
trenched favored captains in your islands, set loose the waves of discord
all in the name of your lover, the sea.
you disregard land-lovers with an easy conscious
because you know what their ends hold:
the billows of the waves
the barnacles on the bilge
the cold that creeps up my sleeves
the london fog.
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Comments12
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Ooooh, gave me an old Victorian London feel. I can almost imagine the rattle of the hansom wheels clattering on straw strewn streets, beggars by gaslit lamps, young boys selling "The Strand" and the fog darting this way and that with the looming dome of St Pauls in the background. 