Her silky scarf covers her hair, trailing around her neck. It is powder blue; attractive, as is her face. Her dress trails to the floor, her body covered for modesty. The pot of Ginger tea is steaming and you remember the biscuits you ate as a child with lashings of hot milk. The logs on the fire burn delicately; the heat embraces you as you sit and cup your mug. The table displays a single gerbera, stemmed with wire. The waitress wears a flowery dress and she has tartan ribbons in her hair. She skates towards you, and brings with her a plate of pink cup cakes.
How I know my life's a failure
My phone remains unhacked
Or maybe no-one's told me yet
But if you see me grinning ear to ear
Know Scotland Yard just gave the word
Leading to inner raptures
'Companied by a-quickening stride
- spring in my step
Exultations! I'll have had a result
The compo's good
Pension? Who needs it!
Subtitle: When News is news
I haven't spoken to Rupert in ages
And I'm far from lacking in humility
as my former boss says
I now keep a low profile
As befitting my lifestyle
I'm at one with the hacked
A career move for some
That's paid off in so many ways
I drop in at police stations
Now and again
Such a pain
Talking to oinks on my need to keep silent
I wish not to
But to trumpet to the world
(Trumpet crumpet; yes all human life is here)
They Will Know
- as much as is legally possible
You get my meaning
My high-flying life is now becalmed
But yet, still
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