Jerked from a waking dream to twitch,
At the scream of a car alarm in the dead of the day.
Movement induced by the barbs of the pitch,
through the window of a motel room under a false name.
A starker portrait painted with a stray cat smile
Of a covert-operative acting natural, when framed
The setting sun burned the sky pink and orange in the same bright hues as surfers’ bathing suits. It was beautiful deception… Sunsets did that here. Made you forget it was the smog that made their colours so brilliant, that behind every pretty picture there could be an ugly story.
|—||Michael Connelly, ‘The Black Echo’|
Back To Hackney, from our new record Like I Belong.