“Consider all the numbers….”
She asked him with with a frown
And he hung from the window
Seeing Cheltenham upside down.
Sharing a perception,
A lost in this great soup
They relaxed with a moment
A slipping in the loop
And stumbling while they stop
To pick up a bottle top
The colour of an iron crop
An icon of an old shop
“The squares and primes and numbers in between..”
As she mused from a rooftop while a-swinging on a beam
“..Consider the identity of something like a shark”
He replied with a hiss that she better build an ark
And stumbling while they stop
To pick up a bottle top
The colour of an iron crop
An icon of an old shop
The shop where they used to go
With cards in the front window
The people that they used to know
The photographs that showed old women
137 was the number scribbled down
On a pad by a mirror on the other side of town
The ink was fading as the paper settled down
As they waited for a morning that would never be around
And stumbling while they stop
To pick up a bottle top
The colour of an iron crop
An icon of an old shop
Of coffee tins and tea bags
And chocolate and old rags
A greeting cards and cheap fags
And photographs that showed old women
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