AD (01/08/1970 / Camperdown, Sydney)

Impending Autumn

Know one ever really knew him, they just assumed
Oh how little a town can be
Scouring with grudges,
Tearing his arms
One day he asked himself: Am I Messiah?
No, there are no olives
Not a cross on a hill
Only Judas who kisses to thrill

It’s all jazz
Wether the lips tell lies or truth,
It’s all jazz
And I’m all jazzed up with impending autumn.

by Anthony Dawson

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