Strange Autopilot by R.Dyer

One day in November just like any other
One more normal day in one more normal town
The nurse called us in about 10 in the morning
I'd rather gloss over what happened in there

On strange auto pilot I walked into Loughborough
To the art shop on Churchgate that now has shut down
And I sat on the floor with pens spread out around me
To pick out the hues that would colour life now
The dark grey of gravestones
The cool grey of ashes
The violet slate of the oncoming storm
And the pale pastel yellow I brought on the off chance
That maybe one day all my hope would return

The next day I went round to clear out your porn stash
Thought it might be fairer on Mum and on Dad
But all that I found was a six-sided sex dice and the things I imagined have scarred me for life!
It's funny the things that you find yourself doing
covering your cardboard coffin with googly eyes
And writing you messages in pen and in pencil
to wrap you up safe in the dark of the night
The spidery lines of the Berol fine liner
The grey of the carbon from which we're all made
And the pale pastel yellow which stayed in my pocket
it's colour was too dim to cut through the shade

10 years later I still haven't used it
You can't capture light on the square of a page
But sometimes I think I can hear your voice saying
That maybe there's beauty in all of those greys
The grey of the sea stretching out to new places
The grey of the sea as it waters the earth
And the gray of my hair on a head that remembers
The times that we shared and all that it was worth
Most of the time that don't give me solace
The sort of sentimental thing you would say

But when I pick up that pen I will draw something silly
like maybe Bart Simpson showing his arse

(it's nice to remember the sound of your laugh)

• Alternative
• Experimental
• Pop
• baroque pop
• lo-fi
• performance art
• Brighton