I don't even remember home no more I walked away and closed the door. That old front room With its coffee shop windows And Tokyo gloom Was looking more and more Like a trap or a tomb. Even the cat had upped and left I had a nagging feeling in my chest That if I didn't get away I didn't have too many more days. Guitars and small screens Cups of tea and baby's grins Cherry blossom walks and arcade cool Reading Dickens and afternoon home school, The days they passed in carousel fashion Ups and downs and remote distractions Every fist might as well have been a gun There ain't no surviving under that Rising Sun. "Call the cops!" he leered at me Keisatsu will take away you not me, And it was true I soon found out Locked up waiting to be let out It happened once, it happened twice First because he refused to Sign my visa papers until I Became 'nice enough' for him To retreat. The second time he had knocked Me out in the street And they shut the door on me Not him. I was the one disturbing The peace by laying bleeding And failing to be quiet enough To meet their standards for Societal harmony. I couldn't even summon enough Strength for half of me and failed To stand up unassisted. The pigs did not care what he did. I have an internal record player That remembers words and music And saves those thoughts for later It played me Times Square And Helpless, it conjured up This Woman's Work and Blue Dress The world went round and I went down Singing the words to someone else's Emotional drowning. There is no art or craft to suffering. It is a knack, a learnt response To bury yourself down and ensconce Yourself somewhere other than there Where music plays and you just don't care. When I came back to my senses The record had stopped and I Had lost my defenses, Covered in slime And bites and unwanted kisses Rose shaped bruises and clumps Of hair missing Scratched up and bleeding Walking with a limp "Now your munko is black and blue It looks like it belongs to me Along with the rest of you." He laughed. I wondered how long I could take What I had been dealt How much longer could I fake being human With feelings and tears And rights and reasons? When my well was dried up And all that I was left with Was fear, anger and disgust. The days they passed in carousel fashion Ups and downs and remote distractions Every fist might as well have been a gun There ain't no surviving under that Rising Sun.