Cycling past buisness girls on his way through Camden town
between towering grey buildings and tourists that frown

The lights turns to red and like a one legged man at the curb
he drifts off to a land that to some, seems absurb

Where honey-eyed tales of piglet and Pooh
are driven  by toads tooting, ****- ****- poo

Peddling along the reeling, rolling,rambeling road some drunkard guy made
on famiular BBC air waves his voice often played

Through rich green ridings, wild moor and dales
2-50 stands the church clock that so sweetly never fails

Hatless on Ilkley, bathed and bathed in York
tea-time fancies at Harrogate, whilst watching like some Kes pearched hawk

Nodding and humming to  sounds of the Brighouse and Rastric bands
and still finding time to paddle a little,
                                                                                 on sun drenched Gigglewick sands

Red turns to green as he wobbles and peddles away down Boris's yellow brick road
To Settel, for supper with
                                                       Raty
                                                            ­         Mole
                                                            ­                         Badger
                                                                ­                                           and Toad

Lately you made me cry:

I'm crying for the people we should have helped when we had the chance,

I'm crying for all the soldiers who fought and still fighting because of wars that started because of politics and absurb ideologies,

I'm crying for all the children who have lost their parents by fighting for their rights,

I'm crying for all the books we should have read instead of staying up late with our social media accounts,

I'm crying for the person we should have been,
for the person we changed,
for the dreams we dismissed because of self-centeredness
and norms we continually adopt to.

But a little cry is not enough for you to answer, 'what really happened, humanity?