I'm driving a winding road where green hills meet shady woods and the river glitters blackly.
The sun heads down in blood red.
I once found you by piecing together clues.
Now you've dropped off my horizon the clues come my way again. First, like last time, is a number. This winding road runs through your code. I look at tradesmen's vans to confirm it. I know I'm getting warm. The river sparkles under a bridge. I know that bridge from a Thomas Hardy novel. I can't remember which one.
It leads to a pretty town where the centre is dominated by an electrical shop. White letters on blue. Like that Dire Straights song, it's your face I'm looking for on every street. Then I give it up. Head on back to the bridge.
Felt numb as I entered another region where they have a different code. I was as cold as the trail.
I won't pick it up again. No matter how many clues you pass my way.
I think that there's a pattern in this. Who am I to break its beautiful, fearful symmetry?