Strangeways to nowhere,
Ducky, faded yellow rubber,
Whirling down a drain.
A paper boat floundering,
Amidst a gutter's torrents, swollen by the rain.
Promontory jutting out, cleaving from the coast,
Far below, the teeming brine,
The broken tears and agony,
Ripped from the breast of a faded ghost.
A single line of footprints pressed into the sand.
Pixie dust brushed away; a faery, here, lies dead.
All because a single line, no longer spoken,
A simple phrase no longer dreamt or said.
Poison in the water, poison on the wind.
Strangeways to nowhere, a dead end path ahead.
Strangeways to nowhere, spoons bending in the night.
Things that should and shouldn't be...
Things done wrong and a few, maybe, done just right.
Doorways, pathways, highways, byways,
No ways and right ways.
Footprints in the sand, stemming from a place.
Following the wailing, chasing an ancient duck,
Still floating, drifting with the eddies,
A head above the water, watching for a beloved face,
Who remembers the strangeways to nowhere.
Butterfly Writer...Fragile wings spread for the first time...
