mk ii

there's a mark ii parked on the cobbles, of a chelsea mews and out of the shadows, steps a figure, silver mohair bright, into the moonshine out into the night, and in the darkness one stray moonbeam, creeps through the curtains on the unmade bed, she stares at the ceiling, just an empty feeling, he starts the jaguar and drives away, and no one breathes a word, 'cause even breathing can be heard, right through the silver screen, they've made inquiries, they'll make it easy, but she won't answer 'cause she's not really there, he throws his gloves out the open window, he lights a cigarette and drives away, he starts the jaguar and drives away