Swim in the moon
There's a darkness
All by itself
Waiting for the children of prison
Living a life they do not understand
In a place they call home.
Hush, I hear a lorry,
The babble of water,
Like a brook or a freezer unit,
Or maybe it's a bus
With the blinds drawn
Into the night.
It is hard to visualise
Above the grass blades
Whilst all the time
I am sadly seeing
The green, green moonshine,
That matt of cold hair
On your dying skull.