The was a young boy
Who was terribly fat
He ate all he could find
Including the cat

That horrific act
Heralded by a wail
From the greedy boy's mouth
Protruded a tail

Oh no poor *****
How awfully sad
'Listen here my boy
You're making me mad'

But as the boy's father
Shouted and spat
A space was appearing
Right next to the cat

The lads mouth was wet
His belly a-rumble
Now was the time
For dead daddy crumble

A young, fairly attractive
Woman mouths
The words to the
Latest chart entry

She thinks no one is watching
I am

A balding, middle aged
Man picks
So aggressively as to
Carve a new nostril

He thinks no one is watching
I am

Sat in the Car
With time on my hands

There is an elusive group of creatures
Seldom spoken of by sensitive souls
Lining railway tracks as far as they stretch
Hiding in hedges, dashing down holes

All it takes is patience
An ounce of imagination
From Taunton up to Stoke-on-Trent
One can be spotted between every station

The Hedgetracker is spotted
Silver eyes glow in the green
Though most keep sightings to themselves
As to be believed they must be seen

Hedgetrackers should not be feared
They're neither vicious nor malign
They just want to keep their peaceful lives
Of watching trains fly down the line

We argued over that Marc Bolan record
That I knew wasn’t mine anyway
We argued over that Marc Bolan record
It’s my demented way of passing the day

I love to see the lines on your forehead appear
They run so incredibly deep
I love to see the lines on your forehead, my dear
When you’ve got the bit between your teeth

So when I hear ride a white swan
I can’t help but think of your face
Fighting your corner for T.Rex
That cosmic dancer in outer space

Poorly built Jenga towers
Polka-dot the moor
The cows and sheep, for centuries
Have wondered what they're for

Perhaps they're ancient ladders
Leading straight to heaven
But the last young lamb to try it
Fell down and smashed his head in

The cows tried them as markers
To work out where they are
But in their field that's useless
As they never travel far

Two young Americans
Sit before me on a train
Discussing their fathers fashion taste

How did this conversation start?
Is there any way I can interfere
To halt it?

A woman runs full pelt past my left-hand window
The doors shut, she gazes through the pane, as we
Move off- wet eyed, gutted

I try to express with my dry eyes, sorry eyebrows
That she has been saved from a fate
Worse than a quiet platform