Birds singing up on high
The sound of a car passing by
All heads turn
When you open your front door.
Hairy half-lings charge the street
Lost in their own little world
Brother and sister holding each other’s hands
Before crossing the road.
Adverts promising more than Geordie Shore
Whizz on by at a speed that leaves you scatter brained
You focus on a landmark.
Almost half way there.
Feet slipping and rubbing in your shoe
The whole palaver of getting footcare
Leaves you feeling bored and wanting a car.
To take the burden of the road.
Smoke rises from the factory hill
Maybe the factory has burned down
You wonder as you turn the corner
And see your boss tearing out his hair
And jets of water flying through the air.
Into the inferno
That was your second home.
Everyone is gathered outside talking
Nothing like a crisis they say.
To bring people together.
Maybe I won’t need those shoes you imagine
Lying on the sofa watching telly all day
While they pay you out of the insurance while they
Find Alternative premises.
