Fogwalking - Peter Hammill

Everything clumsy slow-motion

I look for the source

Buildings loom up like icebergs

On collision course

I don’t want to go in there

I just want to be alone

Unpick the stitches of time

In London

In the no-go zone

I’ve been kicking around like a dog

Lost myself in the blank mass of fog

It’s some kind of service

All humanity’s fall-out is there

Slumped in doorways

And mouthing cold air —

I have heard this

Fogwalking, fogwalking

Since the curfew

The streets are half-dead

All the good folk asleep in their beds

It’s so easy to go off the rails

When the fog spores

Are breeding inside by head

Fogwalking: there’s a presence that I sense

Fogwalking: the neck muscles tense

Fogwalking: it’s right here inside me

Try to find a defense — oh, no

Fogwalking through the wreckage

Fogwalking through the worm-eaten Night Apple

Fogwalking through what used to be

Whitechapel