On the corner
Last exit of the roundabout
First turn, you’ll see the sign
And the coach for the roamers
Later, downhill
Passed the old mill and the factory
You’ll learn, first to take mind and will
As the roaches in soft air are still
In the square
By the railings, the clock tower
They discern, demur with conservation
As gamekeeper and poachers weigh and tare
Now, homebound
In the charabanc; a saucy song
Burn your bridges, kiss her on the lips
All around her hat, be ready to be wound girl
Next Sunday, at chapel
Your songbook
Her garland, did you ever
Now fancy that
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