Timpani no more

 How do you do?

Are you in the soup too?

How does it feel to be me?

Well how does it feel to be you?

Are you waking up sideways with your head in a cupboard

Are your ears like an attic

Where bats are recovered

Do you sweep cobwebs or webcobs

Do you chew tobacco sweet stacco

Are you stuck in the middle bracket

Income packet,

Under the living wage, or between the lines

On the living page

Of life's book

The devil's in the detail, but he lives to be on stage

And who should know better

Than the deep blue sea

Who could know better than you and me?

The words I wished I had written were caught in the trap

Of the unforgiven, and smitten, by folly, sore blades 

In sacks, holding a brolly to the the radio shack

And firing nicely the cannons' report

Oh reads the daily results on the sport

Slow tambres coming and an ice cream van

Calling out its sombre, sombrero lifespan

Its always summer in the north pole

And he will serve your soul flakey

Or dipped in petrol

And lice are crawling up the road

Carrying icicles of pericles

And shoulders of pork are still to be cured

But legs of lamb have been broken

If ever softly heard