Life is fair,
when the day is dying,
and I can see pigs flying
over Trafalgar Square.

The fountain is singing,
the drunkard is drinking,
the homeless sparechanging
the night.

Sir Nelson is chilling.
The busker is screaming
and blind men are dreaming
about light.

The moon is starwatching.
The buskers Beatlesing.

Im trafalgarsquare'ing
my rounded dreams
Nothing is as real as it seems.