Jac and Shea I am searching for a story. I left it somewhere under a granite paperweight. I wonder was it then when I forgot to dance, to close my eye, to watch the unemployed Jacobites spread technicolour. As if I would forget, as if I would leave you in the past when no matter how often I stand beneath a rainstorm I could never wash you away. Still imprinted with the original as a fingerprint seeks rare form, but floats off like a feather, lands later, too late for a lover and for dancing under the moon.