His voice, husky and soft (now, right now),
Brings you back to those summer evenings (June, it was),
When, as a child, you would
Reluctantly go to bed ("there's school tomorrow"--your mum's voice now)
And try to sleep
Though the sun was still visibly up behind the white shutters.
And you could hear your parents' voices in the garden.
And you could smell the lilacs and the freshly-mown grass.
And you'd think things would last. All of them.
And you'd close your eyes, trying to forget
Those inkblots on your fingers.
Your world keeps turning round and round
But everything is upside down
Your own worst enemy has come to town
