When the phone tolled.
It still echos through these valleys,
Along the railway cuttings,
In bulletins and bars.

When the day collapsed
And the starlight burned our eyelids
To etch into our humour
What freedom's really for.

When the lake froze
And the benches became tributes.
The robins' songs were minor,
Paths twisted without end.

When the clouds stopped
And the buzzards soared in silence.
It should have been the finish.
I wish it were the end.