did the wind from the river   spooking around your home   also deliver the verdict   on someone you thought was gone   but walked together beside you   to a good place to be alone   when all good is wrong      to the warehouse attic   wearing her favourite dress   but it's not the same   won't bring her back again      from up here you can see   the mobile lights crawl across the bridge   like small reminders,   like cut off ropes   through everything that lives through worn out jokes   she's the passenger      to the warehouse attic   wearing her favourite dress   when you have no access to forgiveness   when you fall away   on slow motion replay   editing your life again   you'll find yourself exposed   that you've become   what you despise the most      to the warehouse attic   within yourself so sick   of its dense atmosphere   of stale innocence and care