Organic Acid

	He got her drunk very quickly
	Holding hands, they found the broom-cupboard
	Where he had control as far as the fall
	When his hand covered wet hair
	She took over among furniture wax
	Dust, and the cloying yellow of polishing-cloth
	When he was sick, she comforted him

		Oh hush, my friend, and sleep
		And cuddle to the wind
		Sleep on through the waves
		That may wet your lover's dream

		We have been far through this night long hours
		We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh...

	He couldn't do it properly
	The disco, the office, the pub,
	Had left out those details of delight.
	Satisfied, he would collapse out,
	Puzzled at why she still squirmed,
	Held onto him, tears curling into her mouth
	This was something their stories always omitted
	That her joy would seem like pain
	When he focused after his release.

		Do sand and shells and stones
		Peep in through your night?
		But you should not be hurt
		For all will pass with time.

		We have been far through this night long hours
		We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh...

	In the third week of the relationship
	She was tripping on organic acid
	Would stop to pick up a rained-out leaf
	Would give it tenderly into his hand
	Full of dead things before they reached the car

	When they drove she sat with mouth open
	As though photographed on the impact of a stomach punch
	Her right fist gripping the skin of his left leg

	Hooking the steering-wheel closer to his heart
	He feared her, and slapped out sideways into her face
	She entered the cut with her tongue
	Gurgling gratitude for the strange taste

		Do you fear the dark?
		Then hush, and realise
		That though the angels never come
		Prayers can soothe your mind

		We have been far through this night long hour
		We will go far, tomorrow, out of sight, ooh...

	There was no premonition of the wet Hog's Back
	The sportscar slumped, snout into a beech
	Their corpses giving the vehicle arms
	Petrol and blood at last dripping together
	But quick flashes of a planned lunch
	Cold red beef, white cloth by a cherrywood fire
	Game pie, and for him two pints of colder beer
	The winter air tucking under their eyelids
	As they spun on the gravel at Clandon
	Their hands steaming from quick moisture
	The aromatic finger drawn up to his nostril
	Dazed after mutual masturbation
	They zigzagged into a conservative end

		Oh hush, my friend, asleep.


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Copyright Kate Bush Music Ltd.