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
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October 2023
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