Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Peter Hammill
Not for the first time
Nor probably the last
He's diving deep down, all his senses overblown
In the transit zone
He's all alone this time
There's not a moment to waste
And yet he's frozen on the spot
By his own self-doubt
Can't turn about
Might not get out this time
One telephone call's his right
But while he's ordering his thoughts into a thread
The line goes dead
And he's not headed anywhere