These streets can be mean – people can be mean.

Two-faced town. Happy, smiling, grinning…it’s the face it wears for the masses. ‘Welcome to Wonderland‘ it says. Come on in and play a while, stay a while. All the fun of the fair here. Rain or shine, always something to do.

With its flashing, blinking lights and the promise of gold, tired bandits pump out pennies into battered trays, the carousel tune lures you in like the song of the siren, calling you to come inside…and pay. Pay with your dirty cash and your time. Wile away the ticking hands on the clock and watch the sand run through the glass as we steal seconds, minutes, hours – never to be returned – and a little piece of your heart.

Always something to do here.

The grey, immortal drizzle can’t dampen your spirit or soak your shoes because, you see, it’s always fun at the fair. Roll up, roll up. Walk with me through Wonderland, I’ll show you the way. Hold your hand and lead you through these salt-stained streets. You can follow the footsteps of the weary souls, walk the way of the ancient mariner who still looks for his ship and calls out his warning of rocks. He heard the siren’s song too. We can wend our way down the promenade and stop to stare at the sea. We can feel the sting of its wet kiss on our cheeks as we strain to to hear its tale, listen to its watery woes and let it frazzle our hair while cling to the rail, waiting. Hoping.

You’re safe here, with me and the sea, in this old town. Safe from the fake friends and the painted smile of the city. You know where you are here, who you are. You can be whoever you want and the sea won’t mind. Why should it care? After all, everyone floats, right?

Come, stroll with me some more on its sandy shore. Come down to the water’s edge and let your troubles be washed away with the tide. Let them go. Give them up to arms of the ocean and walk where waves caress the beach in the inky black night. Shelter where your secrets are safe and no one knows your name or what you did. Rest a while, here. Sleep. Wait for weightlessness. It won’t be long now.

Can you hear that sound? It’s a sinister tide tonight, coming for a black heart. Ssshhh, listen. It’s calling, can you hear?

Of course you can.