Every year where I grew up, the whole town shuts down and the cars go round.

We would gather with family and friends, go to a balcony and watch the cars go round.

Twently years ago, I decided I no longer belonged there, I left the town.

I came back many times to see my family, but only once to watch the cars go round.

I grew into someone who dislikes engines and isn’t interested in cars going round.

But last year the whole town shut down and the cars didn’t go round.

No-one was at the balcony, someone was in hospital.

The cars didn’t go round, but his heart did go round.

The town came back to life, and he came back to town.

This year the cars go round, and he’s at the balcony.

It is a strange thing that the cars still go round, when not everyone’s been so lucky.

Nostalgia is a strange thing, when you long for the place you no longer belong.

Nostalgia is a strange thing, when you miss the cars going round.