Wind across the quay-side grit in my eyes and fish in my nose white as whalebone, wheeling seagulls cry
outside the bar in the high-street blind fingers spin an accordeon reel shoes and sedan wheels grudgingly keeping time
fishing boat stretched out at low tide dog and a black man work on the deck bright as a bottle, sunlight skips wave to wave
part of a map of somewhere teases my foot like a haunting dream never so free, i'm lost in the seagulls' flightTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
