As a gentleman you’ll tip your hat to me
Whilst slowly popping off my fingernails...

Eat the soup
Just don’t look...

A pilgrimage to summers ley
When should we find them fair and fey...

Underneath the silver birch
That stands where two roads cross...

A lone tree once grew on a cliff
In a time of great fire...

My book is one for masochists
They wrote the epilogue for me in hate...

Eyes up to the Man, the Flag and God
Clutching the national plant...

My heart is trash
It spills its juice...

This is a great world of love
Of streams, of flowers of skies above...

Rather cloudy in the northwest, elsewhere mostly...
The reality of the death of expendable income...

Deserts that have formed over the heads of kings
Like the callous that can form around the eye...

The pain I feel isn’t hurting
This endless blue can’t be real...