Bandits, broken but unbeaten
for just that time, our touch of Eden,
wings on our heels flying on flames of steel.
How good did it made you feel,
laughing in the face of easy death
In the chicanes and the back lanes of regret.
And we had not been beaten yet
Nor will we be beaten still.
Drunk on air in screaming lungs
High on speed our favourite drug
Deep and long each sweeping hug,
flying we immortal thugs,
With the innocence of teenage hopes,
kisses over the top box,
man we had some rocks,
one twenty on the peg,
scraping knee and blooding leg,
to feel the speed beneath our feet.
And the pain of loss,
the shame of been beaten to the toss,
ninety five into the bend not knowing
hell or heaven sent.
To end it all on a single toss.
All over. Your dead,
© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com