Stop all the blogs, unplug the microphone,
Prevent the furry squids barking with a juicy bone,
Silence Paddy's plastic keyboard and crafty's drum
Lie on the couch, let the visitors come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning in the sky
Scribbling the message 'don't say the Ink is dry?'
Lay black wreaths at Mr Midian's door,
Without the dudes what is Midian for?
They are my North, my South, my East and West,
My Tuesday night and my Barleycorn fest,
My lemon Pepsi, my Coopers Pale
I thought my spine would last for ever: now I ail.
The Hinnies do not bray now, the tions do not roar
Four squids are stranded on a rock-less shore
Cut from each other like newborn from placenta
Cruel like heartbreak, wrong like Dane Centre