Hear now - how
everything becomes undone.

The police’ve come they’ve found the car,
his body’s intact but the bones, they’ve gone and broke.

The school’s just phoned and he’s shaved his head in
a boarding house fight from a dope-fuelled dare.

Saturday night and he’s in a river now,
skin burning, waiting for the helicopter to come.

Further away, Australia, and the phoneline’s crunching -
tractor wheels turning as everything goes under.

Slow motions, fast ones too. In an instant,
it was together. And in another,

it’s all come undone.

It’s not worth drawing it up, keeping track;
the flights you take, the bills you pay. The secrets

you keep. The credit running into red. You let it
run. You call him back. You say

come home and sleep,
we can unravel safely here.

People ask you how you’ve done it -
all those years of pulling threads back together again.

You are strong. Resolute. Sip your tea and say,
it’s good to break early, you say. It makes you real.

It makes you deep. You know what kinds of ghosts
can come for you if you think no one’s watching.