Antonia Two

Who can ever say, we’ll warm our bones, when we've been away, the picture's not bright, you can cry but don’t, home is not kind, thoughts that are splayed, where we come from, are not put on display, like this harvest light, with hardly a sound, there’s no gentle sky, maybe we'll take a train, like a winter's stove, warms us to dream, a horizon blind, we navigate alone, seeking what’s right, a line on my face, says just carry on, everyone in this game, stands their ground.