Haunted Days

These are haunted days;
bonfire-scented autumn days.
Someone's slipped away,
and someone's thoughts are all in one place.

These are haunted days;
the year is facing its old age.
I met her from work at three to see her home
so she could catch some sleep.

Everything's a little
everything's a little - thrown.
I watched her cry for someone I didn't know.

You can sense it on the wind,
the wind that sets the trees to singing –
hear them whispering how someone's gone,
someone's missing.

These are haunted days,
sad and golden, underplayed.
I met her on Oxford Street to see her home
so she could catch some sleep.

These are haunted days;
bonfire-scented autumn days.
You can't fix everything that breaks,
and someone's thoughts are all in one place.