Uphill Kinsley road in a house where no soul passes
we’re all naked playing cards with the demons and the horses
and I dare you throw the dices in the middle of our game and score a five,
for heelless whispers without name may take your purpose off it’s way
and retired pastor’s preaches describe good reasons to remain
to put your boots aside and come and play with cards and chains…

Old floor screeches and there are steps in the dust
nothings moves through the cloud that nests in the house,
the furniture is covered by blankets that long lost their white
the stairs are heavy under memories that fell off your hair
and you are in bed with a ghost that did not even start to smoke,
and the carpet is gone between midnight and again…

Stick-figures are hiding aces and queens in the paintings below,
the gramophone box speaks in a thong that isn’t taught anymore
and there are dots and lines and the Pharaoh’s eyes on the walls,
the postbox outside is filled with grains of sweat and stories of war
and the bus never stops and the yard is a savanna of sorts
and you my friend have scored a five and forgot to ever go home…