I had been sent to write a report br Upon the old music hall br Having been allowed inside the dilapidated building br I sat alone in the front of the stalls br I put up my travelling writing table br Laying note book and pen on the top br It just hadn't seemed right somehow br To bring along the laptop br Sitting back to savour the atmosphere br I smelt the dust in the worn velvet seats br In my minds' ear, I could hear br The master's overloud voice br Using long, complicated words br To introduce each act br As if he had swallowed a dictionary br I heard old songs, so simple and sweet br And the laughter at the comical turns br I saw the gaudy costumes br Seeming to shine in the footlights br I gasped at the magician small conjuring tricks br And I would have sworn that the ventriloquist's dummy br Could really talk back br It was in that moment, I realised br All the pleasures I'd just enjoyed br Had all been in my imagination br Smiling to myself at my foolishness br I reached for my notebook and pen br When to my amazement br The pen rose in the air br It hovered for a moment over the pad br Before writing these following few words br 'We were here'.