The sound of wild birds Hooting above me in the black trees
Take me to somewhere else Far away from these urban towers, Blocks of small rooms one on top of the other, And the planes overhead And the sirens in the distance.
Wet leaves And the sound of water gushing deep down
Through the grate at my feet And the smell of wet earth Are all particular to this place, But are all familiar to me,
Like my hands and feet and the colour of my hair,
Things I live with everyday, But could not recall if I did not have them.
In this dark I wonder if I will cross anyone else.
Who are you stranger, wanderer, And do you wander as I do? And do you wander or are you looking for an escape like me? An escape from the