Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 250

Today is Monday, the 5th of June 2023

Is this becoming a daily blockblog, now?

The pig asks.
I don't think so, said the animal leaving paw prints.

And I don't hope so.

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"From Bromford"

I finished writing this song in the summer,
now I'm watching the snowflakes fall.
As the years go by, I wonder if I really like it here at all.
Well, I woke up this morning in a strange town,
the truth is I thought I'd be dead by now.
I guess I'll keep on going until they find me out,
with love from Bromford.

I'm glad that I stayed out drinking,
put some medicine in my mind.
To distract me from this grain of sand,
in the middle of space and a time.
This morning my head is losing the war,
it's cold outside as I walk out the door.
And I get the feeling this has happened before,
with love from Bromford.

I can feel myself disappearing in the early morning sun.
I fade with the road that I'm walking,
with love from Bromford.


As the morning breaks over Southampton,
I'm wondering how long and how far.
Still thinking about that old friend, as the waitress trips over my guitar.
See he stopped singing songs and he moved away,
I can picture him now singing low lands away.
Heard he's picking apples down near Rattlesnake Bay,
with love from Bromford.

I remember early evening the first time Summer showed her face,
we were sat outside with a and wine,
talking about the golden days.
We woke up laughing in the Paris dusk,
and a man on the boat pulled a knife on us.
If time is money and money ain't much,
with love from Bromford.

And I could feel us disappearing in the early morning sun,
for we were just dead men walking,
with love from Bromford.


And I'll be moving on in the morning,
to go searching across this land.
Well, I don't know what I've been looking for yet
and I doubt that I'll ever understand.
I'm a copy of a copy,
in my own version of time.
I'll never see yours and you'll never see mine.
We still see the same sunsets,
walk the same lines,
with love from Bromford.

I started writing this song in the winter,
now I'm watching the spring blossoms fall.
Tell me how can the difference between hours and years,
feel so endless and yet so small.
Well, I left that house about four this morning,
I got a feeling to carry on going.
'Til the cigarettes freeze over and the whiskey stops flowing,
they'll be singing low lands away.

And if Bromford is the days gone by,
then they're the ones that I love.
If now is the place that I'm supposed to be,
it isn't long enough.

Some day soon I'll be a photograph,
underneath my grandson's bed.
I heard there's a universe somewhere,
where this song was written yet.
So, if you feel yourself disappearing in the early morning sun,
just smile and keep on walking,
with love from Bromford.