Toucans worn out verily
By the haust in the horizon
Spical specialities leak out
For a dug at consumerisation
Frank the rafter
And John the son
And the pigeons which crowd about us
Their business not minded at either end
The city's walls run dry
And a cat lady sleeps
Illuminating the want of her children
Through making sure they play their part

Tuners or tongue rings
There's a gift for all
If you're willing to stop a minute
And listen to your call.