I'll be yours

Yeah, definitely London has an inch of Gothic spirit that surrounds the whole city, specially when the light starts loosing its summery brightness and surrenders itself to the power of the Autumn and its gloominess.
But I love every minute of it. I like watching the flowers die by the river bank. Well that's more of an imagined scene, as central London does not have many daises wanting to jump in the water of the dirty Thames. There are rocks, wasted cans of Coke, some single and souless shoes with open mouths and many birds looking for the unexitent fishes.
In the city, life is different. Nature tries to reveal itself, but it's left behind, it's silenced for the convenience of urban style.
Still many paths lead us to trees tha have seen it all: From the assassination of greedy bankers, street girls and lost travellers to the possesion of the desired body by the clumsiness of lousy lovers with no intimacy to share.
And all endure the pain of tattooed names that will fall apart, like the promises they so solemnly proclaimed to each other under the English moonlight.
That moon also seems different in this sky. I think that she just plays to deceive me. But I voluntarily fall in its trap. Tender trap.
So soon it's gonna be dark. And those sellers in Holborn will offer fresh oranges to the stressed cashiers with their double shifts at Sainsbury's, to the exhausted mums and the idealistic students worried by their 60s and 70s.
Ah...All that noise in the dark, in the cold of another winter to come. And I miss it so badly. My lips breaking, my hands shaking, my bones dancing the icy ballad between blankets where I get warmed up by dreams of you...Always you. Because you've got magic in every corner f yours, in every green space attacked by crazy drivers who want to make it home to their loneliness and TV.
I found your magic long time ago, when I was only a child who thought you were the most beautiful and scariest thing I've ever seen. And none tought me how to control the fire you are gifted with, so I keep on burning at your wish.
I keep on living in this crowded road, in a room with a poor view to an always busy shopping center, to a world in which I don't believe, but I accept for my convenience.
And out there is no that bad. Actually we just need a bit of your rain, a few of your drops falling slowly, bringing back the ocean where they come from so I can swim in the streets again, like we used to.
And that blue-eyed boy of dark hair, son of yours, is smiling at me in a dialect I finally came to understand.
I guess that I am tired and all I am asking for in here is for your permission to belong. I want to belong to you. Couse maybe you are the place I can called mine.
And only if you let me, I'll be yours till tomorrow sets us appart and someone else claims our hearts.