Flights Of Fancy
By birksy
The telephone line to nowhere, let it ring, let it ring, let it ring, perhaps you're not there, or maybe deep in a bath. Perhaps this isn't your number at all, instead a warehouse, deserted since Spring, is echoing with my call, a few startled rats, now stare at the noise, the bravest one moving forward, starts to nibble at the cable, let it ring, let it ring. Perhaps, just perhaps, you've been taken captive, and a man such as I, is who you've been waiting for. Are you tied to a chair, gagged and wanting to talk, or is a fuse wire set to blow on the next ring? I'll wait, just a few more times, Because even that sounds better than another evening, alone with me. Written December 14th, 2001 © on Jan 08 2002 07:41 AM PST, Simon Birks 0 • 12
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"The telephone line to nowhere,..."