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Well then suddenly...
there was no one...left standing
In the hall...yeah, yeah...
In a flood of tears
That no one really ever heard fall at all
Oh I went searchin' for an answer...
Up the stairs...and down the hall
Not to find an answer...
just to hear the call
Of a nightbird...singing...
come away...come away...

Clive smiled to himself, crookedly as he sang along, it had been a long drive, and slow without Gypsy there to talk to the whole way, but he knew she’d be alright, she was going to be a big star, and he’d drive back to New York when her album was released, just so he could be there, so he could tell his grandkids about it when he was old and gray.

He laughed at that idea, shaking his head and flicking his bangs from his eyes, singing along with the chorus as he came around the corner, “Just like the white winged dove...
sings a song ...
Sounds like she's singing...

The final ‘whoo’ was cut off by a squeal of tires, a crash, he heard the impact more than he felt it, thrown hard against the door, it took him a moment to realize that the car had rolled, was still rolling, broken glass and sparks showered down on him, he felt a crunch and a tug
And then he blinked, because there was a door, in the ground, through the crushed roof of the Trans, so he stepped through...
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goodbyesandusky: (Default)
Clive Webb

September 2006

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