I go to Baldessin

When I look up from my etching
The city is grey, to me
I close my eyes and I drift to a place
That seems made, for me

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

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

I go northeast, east
To the picnic of my dreams
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?

Put down my burnisher
Pick up the microphone, instead
Lloyd on harmonica sporting tillandsia
On, his head

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


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