Pale clouds - it's my first morning in Greece, and I'm thinking of your pale eyes. My brother sighs and then regrets what he's done - even a perfect host can't promise the sun. I sleep through all the afternoons; the time gap will be done with soon, and books and dreams can bring me home to you. This letter is an elevator ride for the tongue tied; on the inside I know what I want to say, but my face remains ashen. Can't these pale clouds carry me away?





tomorrow night's Manchester, UK

andrew: is living just enough for the city (fender guitars, nick's bass, keys and stuff).

alistair: is hiding out in the countryside (voice, guitars, drums and other things).

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