Everything clumsy slow-motion,I look for the source.Buildings loom up like icebergson collision course.I don't want to go in there,I just want to be alone,unpick the stitches of timein Londonin the no-go zone.I've been kicking around like a dog,lost myself in the blank mass of fog,it's some kind of service.All humanity's fall-out is there,slumped in doorwaysand mouthing cold air -I have heard this.Fogwalking, fogwalking.Since the curfewthe streets are half-dead,all the good folk asleep in their beds,it's so easy to go off the railswhen the fog sporesare breeding inside by head.Fogwalking: there's a presence that I senseFogwalking: the neck muscles tenseFogwalking: it's right here inside me,try to find a defense - oh, no.Fogwalking through the wreckage,fogwalking through the worm-eatenNight Apple,fogwalking through what used to beWhitechapel.