The Fugitive

A gun did the talking
Conversation wasn't sweet
He took the ferry to a foreign land
She fired her mouth off
Always had the last word
But not this time
This time was different

Puts down deep thoughts in blue
On sheets of Basildon Bond
Only yesterday
Funny, it seems longer
He reads between his own lines
The spaces speak in volumes

Eating out of a tin
His heart is in his mouth
Home is any map
East, West, North or South

The headline screams from the newspaper
"MOTEL MURDER MYSTERY Girl found dead"
Flash back the replay
Bullets in slow motion
The bruises still show from his last bad dream
Drags himself up, smooths down his tidal wave
Climbs into photographs of stillness

Running into the rain
Taxis everywhere
Falling into the lights
It's so peaceful there