Between the grey, and the maroon
Sit the rolling Lincolnshire Wolds
On this mist filled February afternoon
Between the hedgerows, and the trees
The tarmac highway takes over
Towards a welcoming, melancholic tune
There goes the last of the coffee
And no longer any cigarettes
To go with that Cornish vacation fudge toffee
There go the coasting four by fours
Also the rampant, excitable speeding youths
All intently exploring; what this here life is for
