Fixtures and mittens

It’s like there’s a couple of words running around in your head and you’re not sure if it’s a song that you heard or maybe something you’ve read and then the words in your head become flames on your tongue and you don’t care anymore because they’re your words and more and the more the flame…

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A circular staircase

The vintage was old vicarage the label was old spice the taste was new, peculiar, a touch which I thought nice. But I’m spinning rings a hoopla stall the fairground’s gone, what happened to it all? Everything goes every one grows everybody knows why except me…

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