There’s a racehorse living in the flat upstairs,
An odd place for a horse to dwell.
It’s a quadrupod, and it’s fully shod,
And it’s a living hell…
It’s threatening a smooth Brexit,
And it first came to light when
A hundred jiffy bags a day
Were being delivered to Number 10…
I flew into the air
And landed with a nasty crack.
But it was a hit and run,
And the pram did not look back…
Words are a type of fossil fuel,
That’s found in seams and veins.
Words are made of carbon,
And are ancient trees’ remains…
I found my optimism in a box in the attic,
It had been up there for years.
It was covered in dust, and about to combust,
So I brought it down and we had a few beers…
A morning traffic jam
By the blue walls of Ikea?
Personally I’d rather
Be in North Korea…