When the moon appears full
In a Sinnfull kind of way
And a few wind-blown plastic buckets stand out
in the lonely dark streets of Wembley square
they shine in a light of the lamps and the moon,
its veiled and dust-filled parking garage
and they float upon the building boom
Britta, with her red hair, walks from
Bucket to bucket to mixture, as she wipes
her face in an old fashioned way, and runs away
into the night with the smoke separating her fingers
and her cigarette coiling close as she walked
down to get rum,
this will complete the raisin mixture
to the faint yellow sheen of the iced cream,
stands here the factory with the passion
it was made as we watch the seepage of late light
closing in,
down through the office window we see the last
gray islands of cloud
Taken from view, and the wind ruffling the moon's ash-colored coat
On the black streets of Sinnfull land.
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