My Final Hour Live - for tonight - with love comes power, With day will come my final hour. The finest fight I will thrust into - My heart is yours - this is for you.

Peter, You've Become A Pirate - this isn't my usual kind of writing - maybe aimed at a younger audience - thought I'd give it a go nonetheless - I knew a boy of just fourteen, well, he turned forty two. He gave away is feathered hat, and his loved flute, too. He traded in his pocket watch, for what I do not know. His clothes, once made of autumn leaves, Lay rotten in the snow. A happy thought; once natural, now so far away. And so is his most precious gift; to fly - through night and day. He lost his love for his lost boys, and his fairies too. I think it’s very likely, that he lost his marbles too. So what about young Wendy? Does he no longer care? He brought her to his Neverland, because he loved it there. The trees a luscious green, the seas a tranquil blue, the way that people stay the same, as though time just stood still. But no, his boots remain hung up, his dagger tucked away, I guess he must have caught his shadow - Or lost it at midday? I wonder if he can recall, the way to Neverland; You take the second star on the right and go ‘til you hit land? But what remains of my friend now, That all of this is gone? Well he has grown a greasy beard, and owns a cap-lock gun. He sails upon the Jolly Roger in place of Hook and Smee - his quest to loot and pillage lands he used to fight to free. It is so plain and crystal clear - Oh, Peter don’t you see it?! While burning all your precious bridges, you’ve become a pirate.

Only Love Is On The Moon I search in the lambent lights of the city, the flames of the reticent; secret, living. Awake in their vague yet vibrant visions, cast from the lustre of their beginning. Amid all is she, vivacious and pretty, the sky her reflection and all is maroon. But where to find what I am not missing? Only, love it seems is on the moon. That memory, an echo, now it is feeble, a taste lays faint against my lips. When it has faded, farewell ambrosia for I held so long, but had to slip. Where are the lights and #life of the city, which sits in silence, with colour subdued? Gone is the radiance and with it the revel, to ponder the base of the mysterious rule.

Dreams. I awake in a fog from all of these dreams, That trouble me more than all that I've seen. Through the greying decay and nebulous greens, My faulted foundations are brought to their knees. 'As I wade to the waist with a haunted hue, Through a thick sea of contradictory blues, My skin is sharp; as bitter cold breaths are drew. Whilst here treading the tide - am I losing you?' 'Caught in this fray amid the desolate hills, I battle with the black rain that never stills. The silence in the row is a clouded thrill - That feeds bass to my heart 'til the quiet is filled.' 'In the depths of the darkest space that I've been, I hear a voice - yours - and I struggle to breath. You're here, you're close but why can't you be seen? My tired longing to see your face it tortures me.'

She, The Swallow She wakes with the eastern sun, and sings until the others come, Amid a tortured kingdom. She dances with the unnatural blue, her heart as alive, as the morning anew, So ethereal and so few, She, a simple beauty.