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He used to play games,
Sometimes until four.
He couldn't play the immoral one.
Even if he had the choice.
He used to be a wind up merchant.
So cocky and loud.
Make crude jokes and swear.
He'd only stop when at the line.
He used to wear blue,
Inside and out.
Happy on sight.
Eyes can lie.
He used to procrastinate.
Work, sleep and repeat.
Live as if he didn't matter at all.
If live is what he did.
He couldn't approach women.
Only one proper relationship.
A small blonde woman.
Started far too late.
He used to ride his bike,
Up and down hills.
Savour the the journey,
In England's back roads.
I used to play games till four,
And ride my bike.
I'd put things off career
and women alike.
Where'd he go,
When the pink fogs struck.
I'm blue no more,
But I miss his light.
