British Angel of Icebergs
A life of loving and loathing in equal measure You’re clasping fragments tightly. You fear you’re going insane. One blink, then it’s gone. But you still crave for the pain. The Arctic’s seeping through and it’s with weeping eyes you see: galloping horses, a reality gone rotten, the branding of the damned. You’re face to face with the Saboteur - Him & Her. Obscured by snowflakes, it’s no more than a blur. Two blinks, was it all a con? Vertical Horizons meet cascading sky. And into the fjords your frozen teardrops tumble. You’re a Man Without A Plan, but it doesn’t matter, because this is your time now, it’s no longer theirs. You can feel it In Your Bones (Again), once lost, now found, rising up from beneath the ground. Only Solitaire has the answers. And you deny her fate if you dare. You know deep down that you need to believe, to forgive, to Die & Let Live. Memories of Stuttgart-Upon-Thames linger on, in the sauerkraut cocktails, in the tequila hors d’oeuvres, but the Ministry Of Pyjamas has long since been dissolved and the British Angel Of Icebergs has saved your blackened soul. You’re finally free of the past, but not the present – not quite yet. “Let Me Explain!” you scream at the top of your lungs and, just for once, the world stops. Your audience is actually listening. “Idiots! They are all around. Idiots! Come and see me now!” The planets realign and suddenly you’re shining. You’re singing. You’re Dancing With The Platypus… You’re singing and dancing like you just don’t care.