Greg Lestrade used to think about standing on stage
with all the lights
and the weight of his guitar around his neck
lying in the dark after the lights go down
on the top of his van
with the girl he loved
playing the song he wrote for her birthday
And when he sings to himself when he does the filing
everyone stops and listens
And his fingers still fit just right on the strings
He drums on the desk when he works
because he remembers the rhythms he wrote as a kid
And there's a box of sheet music under his bed
And the guitar hangs above on the wall
And the dust on it is inches thick
Tobias Gregson watches the birds out the window
and he paints their flight with words in his head
that no one will ever read
He used to keep journals in his desk drawer
and the pages were black
with verses and rhymes
and they were going to be in books, one day
And the poems still come when he works in his office
because the words still dance in his head
And he could take out a pen and paper
Get on a plane and fly away
to the cafe in paris he always dreamed of writing in
And there's a hundred unfinished rhymes under his bed
And there's a nice notebook on his bedside table
And the price tag is still on
And if Thomas Bradstreet had worked harder
or had a different father
maybe he would have danced
because he used to know what it meant
to arabesque and tour en l'aire
and he could balance on his toes
and the lights above him were like stars
And sometimes he stands with his foot turned out just right
at the water cooler where no one notices
And when he jumps his toes point on habit
He buys tickets to the ballet every winter
where he sits in the back row and watches the lights shine
And there's a box under his bed with a pair of pointe slippers
And size six tap shoes with the heels worn down
And it hasn't been opened in years.
Greg Lestrade has old scars on his fingertips
and Bradstreet old bruises on his feet
And there's a bump on the middle finger of Gregson's left hand
where the pen used to fit
But these are only memories
And if you asked them if there was anywhere they would rather be
than New Scotland Yard
they would say no
and they would be telling the truth
Because these were only dreams
And they smile when they do the filing
in their offices, at the water cooler
and when they put the badge on their chest
they are happy and proud
And once Greg was going to be an astronaut
and every morning look out at the stars
And Tobias was going to own a little bookshop
that served tea and smelled like rain
And Thomas was going to take pictures
of everywhere in the whole world
Because there are a hundred dreams they never found
A hundred songs they never played
poems they never wrote
stages their feet never touched
Because Scotland Yard is the new dream
And sometimes Greg goes to rock concerts
and there's a poetry slam at the library
and a ballet on the biggest stage
and they think to themselves
maybe
And Gregson watches an airplane leave for Paris
and Bradstreet looks at the pointe shoes in the window
and Lestrade goes home and wipes the dust from his guitar
but these were only dreams
And you ask them if there was anywhere they would rather be
than New Scotland Yard
and they say no