(Image from farm5.static.flickr.com)He gets up happy, they say
Smiling from day to day
Never see a frown on his mug, grey
He blows the trumpet divine
Angel or strumpet, he declines
Sat on a bench, C’s on his side
Mo’ money they plead
The babies they bleed
His arm is strong
His fingers are steel
But soft as velvet
They string the reel
Notes fly into space
In between
What’s in your face
Race to the edge
Plant veggies
Eat the soil of Eden
It’s a wonderful…
What the hell, are you?
Don’t speak, it’s a mouthful
Didn’t your ma teach you?
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