You are due on at four
I am sat in the graveyard
Looking out onto a very busy headstone
What do I make of the Cherub blowing kisses
Would the song work if I played Ukulele
For that is the sound I hear
Along with the cockerel
The singing, and the dogs barking
All of that is in my left ear
With only the church there to divide us
I never really settled with the motorbike
I was too much a creature of comfort
The bench has slats for the sitting
It is set solid, upon substantial flagstones
Where my feet settle, firm upon the ground
