i get rumblings of the nighttime see the shadows round the kitchens and lighting up the windows telephones and televisions leftovers of the day when the town s making a racket see the names in number plates hiding in the traffic and then the sky goes blue to gray it s like a window rolling down and i m waiting in the driveway wondering when to get out leftovers of the day in the talkback in the static of all the voices down the line somewhere in the racket see your name in number plates hiding in the traffic1