In with the early dawn
Moving right along
I couldn’t buy an eye full of sleep
And in the aching night
Under satellites
I was not received

Earlier this week I was out for a walk along my usual route, which is a gorgeous little slice of countryside in the city, an old railway line that sits below street level and then rises to a bridge which goes over the entrance to a graveyard and crematorium before opening out onto a park, shaded by overhanging branches.

I always think the world crematorium is kind of funny. It sounds so much more celebratory than it should. Anyway…

I was walking across the bridge, Audioslave blasting through my earphones (Show Me How To Live, which is the song that the lyrics scattered through this entry are taken from) and noticed people wandering about below, cars, a hearse.

Built with the stolen parts
A telephone in my heart
Someone get me a priest
To put my mind to bed
This ringing in my head
Is this a cure or is this a disease?

And then I noticed the heat haze hanging above the crematorium chimney. It’s not smoke, at least not the kind of smoke that comes out of a domestic chimney. Human-smoke and ashes are pretty bad for you if you inhale them. There are processes at work during the burning that stop this from happening.

In the afterbirth
On the quiet earth
Let this things remind you
You thought you made a man
You better think again
Before my role defines you

I stopped for a few moments, quiet apart from the music in my head, to pay my respects. I inwardly saluted the departed. If I was a religious person I would’ve bowed my head and said a small prayer to speed the soul to heaven. But I’m not, so I looked up at the sky in appreciation of life, and I smiled.

And in your waiting hands
I will land
And roll out of my skin
And in your final hours I will stand
Ready to begin

It’s weird to think of how many people must walk or cycle or run over that bridge while there are funerals going on below. Does everyone notice? How many funerals have I unwittingly walked past, the barriers of sunglasses and music sheltering me from social contact, cocooning me from everything except the grass and the trees and the sky and rain.

Nail in my hand
From my creator
You gave me life now
Show me how to live

Sometimes I break out of the shelter of tinted lenses and mp3s and smile at people I walk past. People with over-enthusiastic dogs that stop at my feet for a moment of investigation, cyclists with shin guards and muddy legs, dreamers sitting on benches lost in books. Some people smile back and say hello, but most just look confused. Maybe it’s got something to do with the way I look (the piercings and tattoos tend to have that effect), or maybe people aren’t accustomed to strangers smiling at them for no reason.