The driver arrived complaining,
Like drivers often do,
About how hard it was to find,
And the lack of a sign,
How his sat-nav went down,
And the phones don’t work out here,
And blah, blah, blah,
I switched off at the lack of a sign,
He told me he had a lot’ve land,
A garage for nine cars that he bought from a bloke off the tele,
I asked him what fruit it bore,
“Apples, Pears, Peaches, Plums”
He told me he was down-sizing,
And about the high power careers of his children,
I switched off at Plums,
And was climbing my granddad’s apple trees
by the time we reached the M25
TUNNEL OF LOVE:
We crossed a wooden bridge,
Through a wicker tunnel,
To a table in the sun,
A lady appeared covered in flowers,
Followed by a man wearing a straw sky,
“We reserved this table for you, we knew you were coming”
“Would you like to come inside and see our amazing things?”
FASTER THAN YOUR DADDY’S CAR:
We drove to a place near the border,
And pulled off the road into a field,
There were lightbulbs in the trees,
Wooden houses in the trees!
A LINE WENT FOR A WALK ONE DAY:
Who wakes up in the wrong bed?
Who chases a thrill?
Who makes phone calls in the middle of the night?
Who comes home late?
Who sounds happy?
Who’s still missing?
YOU AND ME STANDING IN LONG GRASS ON A BLUE DAY:
Mint tea boy with pigtails smiling,
“I really like your handwriting”,
“Where’d you get you shirt from?”
With your special key,
With your speeding mouth,
Beat my bongos,
THE LINE WHERE DAY MEETS NIGHT:
Maybe it was me but the city really got on my wick today!
I caught a train without eating porridge,
Never a good start,
And popped out in Oxford Circus,
Where everybody just looked in a mood,
Even the guy,
Begging at the entrance to the underground,
Looked pissed off at me,
The streets were greasy,
Like cities get after an extended spell of sun,
I found a greasy back room,
Of a greasy breakfast chain,
That served passable porridge,
And placed my order,
The lady at the counter was nice,
Totally out of place with her surroundings,
And her clientele,
Too much attitude spilling in off the street!
I squeezed in behind a greasy table in the greasy back room,
Wiped my plastic spoon with a paper napkin,
Popped the lid of my paper tea cup,
And dunked the bag,
’till the water turned Brown enough to promise a kick,
Of the bloke next to me,
Had an annoying alert that kept going off,
A trashy little horn section thing,
That kept going on and on,
And he didn’t give a damn
Cultural phenomenon where are you going?
Is anybody listening?
Take your time,
What’s the name of your cheese?