First day of Autumn, and late night at the Office

Today autumn arrived, and my days at the office once again became somewhat longer than they have been the last few summer weeks. I do not object to the arrival of windier, darker and perhaps also quieter evenings, I quite like it to be honest. Though my days are almost always full of plans and assignments, I often look forward to the late evenings alone at the office. This is for me a time for thinking, reading and writing, even more effectively than I usually am able to during the busy time of day. When every other office is empty I make myself a new pot of tea and put on some music, some quiet late afternoon autumn music like Tom Mcrae or Susanne Sundfør. This poem is from Susanne Sundør's album The Brothel.

The Brothel

Purple pavement
Crookfingers knocking on windows without souls
Bodies are swinging from rooftops and poles
Howling through hollows
Restless nights and one night cheap hotels
Oh, I’m only drifting to always come back

And I search for something
Oh, whatever I don’t really care
Driving with their lights off they can be anywhere
Rolling down their windows
Open card with open mouths
Golden teeth and golden cars

You call me your eyes, you call me your mouth, you call me your ears
Still you follow my trail
I’ll do it all, I’ll do whatever you say, God has left me anyway

Love I laid in payment
Stars with stains and heaven and afterglow
Beneath the ashes of echoes buried alive
They are howling through hollows
Once we share their temple of our arms
Now our heads are hung up on walls

We are ruins within ruins
On every corner a gladiator is begging for another century
When no one cut your tongue to know nothing and to know it all
To be both the animal and god

You call me your eyes, you call me your mouth, you call me your ears
Still you follow our trail
We’ll do it all, we’ll do whatever you say, God has left us anyway
You call me your eyes, you call me your mouth, you call me your ears
Still you follow our trail
We’ll do it all, we’ll do whatever you say, God has left us anyway

There are echoes in the garden is anybody listening
There are echoes lost in the garden is anybody listening
They whisper:
The ones who are only living are the ones who are only dying