Gareth Liddiard
The Island
When we got back to the island
With its pinched brown faces
We felt so ill at ease
What does quarantine mean
When you can't get home?
And why do I ask you
When I know you do not know?
In the bars of the island
Men have hands like mine
And stomachs about as dead as fishes eyes
On the streets all the women
Hide behind their fly screens
You can't make out their faces
And they know you can't see
There's a graveyard that's waiting
Just outside of time
And a church house to flesh out
The skeleton of your mind
We got back to the island
With it's pinched down faces
We felt so ill at ease
Back to the island
With it's turned down faces
We felt so ill at ease