I’m sweeping up your worries
They’re going in to bags,
I walked a week to market
And slept beneath the crags.
I heard that there are traders
Who buy and sell our fears;
They hide behind disguises,
They whisper in our ears.
I’m sweeping up your sorrows,
Flung from a coastal talus;
The market’s shutting down,
Love is now the ballast.
