I go to Baldessin

When I gaze out from my etching
The city is grey, to me
I close my eyes and I dream of the place
Where I'd rather be

I go northeast, east
Tess and Sylvie wait, for me
I go northeast, east
​Avenue of Shaftesbury

Time comes November
My mind’s on a tastier type, of plate
Driving for hours and praying the showers
Choose to, abate

I go northeast, east
To my picnic fantasy
I go northeast, east
Studio amongst the trees

I salivate, begin to drool
As I join the paella queue
And fantasise, wouldn’t it be cool
To clean up at boules?

Lay down my burnisher
Reach for the microphone, instead
Ghost of tillandsia, haunting harmonica,
In my head

I go northeast, east
To my picnic fantasy
I go northeast, east
Baldessin amongst the trees


Ray Davies (The Kinks), I go to sleep, 1965