Voivod, Tony Alan, mingle with Essex techno in the foyer,
clutch your water, fallen fresh out the sky from London,
skin caked in Sky grease, feel the dirt seep into you,
feeling drained from breathing re-cycled wind, the breath
from the lungs of your fellow flyers, legs numb from altitude,
everyone in black & flight cases checkin’ each other out.
Who’re the new boys with the short hair & Adi trainers?
This ain’t the bleedin’ 90’s, this ain’t rave, this is
festival, mixed bag of goodies & I’m in the right spot,
exactly where I want to be. My Mate Kiisti used to write
the lyrics for Voivod back in their day & I dream of playing
rhythm guitar, cycling on a groove for the king of Hi-Life,
Tony Alan & if I’m lucky, I’ll get the full strike, the set of
three, drifting off listening to Patti Smith transmit that
unique New York energy thing outside my bedroom window.
This is where I want to be, but I wish you were here with me.