Fog Round the Figurehead

One more ride before they take it down and drive to a neighbouring town sixteen miles away they'll turn off the lights on all the rides sell off the parts to some nameless guy six years from today and you'll find yourself painting your windows so you don't have to look at what's hammering outside your door and the heart recalls everything in the first language all of the skin peeled back but there's nothing to see emotions you could never name are piling into your thoughts again but you're used to it this way it's got too late to change