Lost, panicked ******* morons getting under my feet.
Twenty ******* dollars for a sausage roll to eat.
Duty-free's a ******* joke, it's cheaper on the street.
And I would rather sit on a bed of nails,
Than this ******* airport seat.

******* airports.

A lipogram I cry aloud,
My first in fact, I’m slightly proud,
To all who know of what I drawl,
I post it now upon my wall.

This task is tough and trying though,
Only using A, I, U and O.
Two-thirds of words do not apply,
And now I think you might grasp why.

I’ll stop my scrawling so you can wallow,
On how this lipogram is so hard to swallow.
And until I think of a good part two,
I’ll sanction additional scribing to you.

Alright, England’s freezing,
But in December Thailand's cold.
The more I feel the chilly air,
The more I feel I'm old.

My nose is getting runny,
It’s glowing rosy red.
I need to find a buxom bust,
To rest my cold filled head.

But soon it will be summer,
And the sweat will start to seep.
Then, I’ll kick her out of bed
And get some ****** sleep.

Boxes are good to carry things
or to keep things in.
We use them for lots of stuff,
To move, to store... for bins.

My feelings are not boxable,
they're complex, changing, free.
If you try to box up my emotions,
then, you're trying to box me.

If you could box a rainbow,
would you really want to try?
I'd rather let it live and die
its short life in the sky.

Your blue blood veins,
red, white, blue stains,
mind closed just like your borders.

Despite the wars,
the foreign and poor,
are given their marching orders.

Diversity,
you just don't see,
is what makes the world so great.

'The futures white, see',
'In good old Blighty',
you bleat as you close the gates.

Blend how I missed you,
Wished to sip you,
Whilst I was away.

In Singapore
you were no more,
and it ruined my ****** day.

But now I'm back
with you again,
In some ****** little dive.

You'll pour again,
Like falling rain,
My golden 285.