The crooked rocks, waves lapping my legs
Must be Mornington, feels like the beach
you popped in to say ‘hi’, your echo drew me here
To await the ferry which will cast me out
Forget those seedy districts, weirdos and bums
I mean that peacenik cafeteria, do you remember?
In the garden the sun poured down
And opportunists recited from their manic works
I prefer to revisit one of our earliest performances
than have another day like the one I had yesterday
Still wondering how I got here from where I started
I wasn’t born in chains.
I was fairly dismissed by you by the quay
in that jumpy district after the third bottle of wine
I have earnt this dull humourless voice
This art is cruel