When you’re putting on the second shoe

Time’s getting on but not too late

And a lovely voice call up to you...

Darkness is tumbling from the flies

And fills the gloomy wings

Your backstage lover sits and sighs...

‍

Who would want to dodge love’s arrows

When my Alison’s on the case?

The focus of my senses narrows

‍

All the pounding banks and pockets take

Slowly ceases to sound

We chuck the last uneaten Christmas cake...

I remember pigeons and sparrows

On the green beneath Edinburgh Castle

I remember smoking a secret joint...

We met in Scotland: to her I say

Greetings on St Andrew’s Day!

She’s sort of Scottish by consent...

When I was young, my bells were rung

For impossible adventures

It’s not the same, no bells proclaim...

Your pedal glories in the bed

Beside me every night

Your gorgeous feet – and strike me dead...

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They say that one’s genetically disposed

To happiness or the opposite. If so

What’s to be done? My very mind opposed...

Though you cannot see my face

Let this note for now replace

That far from lovely feature...