Random, Thoughts, X,XXIV

Hide on the promenade, etch a postcard
"How I dearly wish I was not here"
In the seaside town
That they forgot to bomb
Come, come, come, nuclear bomb

Everyday is like Sunday
Everyday is silent and grey
 
Trudging back over pebbles and sand
And a strange dust lands on your hands
And on your face
On your face
On your face
On your face
 
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