Green man oh how you taunt me…
Masked cyclist oh how you want me
Are leaves just called leaves,
Because they leave the tree?
Do we turn the light off,
Or the dark on?
Lungs of the Bristol cough
initiating imoral intimacy.
Mis-formed shape in a staggering state
By day Bristolian, by night bacchanalian.
His universe concentric to that of a vagabond
Vision blurred by the shotters song.
Gap year student’s sinking sip of Chang
I don’t know if I want to end on pizza or lemon meringue?
Cowritten by Harry Wallwork and Lily-May