Raith

A diagnosis only half true, you smell the Limes, on a tree-lined avenue, act like you know, the tests that tighten, hard to your bones, hope is no proof, to show if they’re right, except there's no clue, you won't be alone, in this cosy light, to break out the stones, you sit near the flue, it's not like a crime, for fire to warm you, you have to keep going, each starry night, when the kid's phone, say you’ll be fine, drink vodka with juice, it’s just a strange time, to ask what you're doing?