Time to get rid, worse luck
Of the A4 lined
Nevermind, March is good for an
Abb attack, a god-faxed
Workout for the young
With so little to say other than
Don't fence me in, sung and vying with
Windows down and woofers and the like
I grieve in advance
Leicester is always the same
I grieve in advance
My favours for the neighbours are
Never-ending
My floating bones long for attachment
A heart that collects the dust
Is an open one for sure
I know this, i have devised rotas in mid-brain
While you have prep'd ice cold suppers
But it has been good to look back
I have re-discovered Mecanno
I have remembered the Golden Touch
I have learned that
All the boys are called Stephen and that
Their world is a Partick off-license
When the wine's in
The wit's out...
Imagine the scenario
Running with low prices or
Sitting smug with the page
Vertical between thumb and finger
Haul in and copy the latest classic
Be parched or be brassic
A liquid plastic gives new perspective and
Blacklines, they are everywhere
Some are invaded by the sealant but
Their demise does not silence the
Cavernous echoes of the fifth channel