Street bird in the night 10pm singing,
Above us in the boughs of Sunday go home.
Though pretty this city dispels wayward
Evenings. Dispels subject deepenings and keeps saying no
No hazard of feeling
That the bar never closes or railway
Imposes the last train to kidbrooke
Is leaving go home
In the queue for the drinks it was lovely to see you, but pass me my bag too, I
Had to be going five minutes ago