You Haven't Found It Yet
Fall You haven't found it yet,
Look at the glass, turn your head
You haven't found it yet.
Moving down the lane inside
It's that London lyric again
You haven't found it yet.
You're into the top shackle
Mental saw-down of your head
Which bemoans a simple fact.
You haven't found it yet.
It seemed so clear in bed
It's dark but your legs, they are dead
Your pen is entombed in mattress
You're not going to get it yet
You're dying but still warm
Put this writing on your tomb
Spit out with dying breath
You haven't found it yet.
The grist that curtails the mill