A northern cunt they call me
An artful dodger you couldn't trust
with a loaf of bread
cause I'd flog the crust
and flag down a taxi instead of a bus
and then just for fun
instead of pay;
run
to my mate's
Arthur Daley of synthetic fur
a visionary in a cloth cap
An entrepreneur
SOUTHERNER
You till the soil
You toiled and toiled
At 04.30 the kettle boiled
Salt of earth
you reap the spoils
and hanker for the simplest
EASTERNER
Your soul moans through emptied eyes
Your gaze defies the tapestry of life
Like a warrior married to a celibate wife
and make of thought reform
a vice
WESTERNER
Father time and sister fate
imposed on you so they could mate
Took your prose that took you years to cultivate
Now you cry to the lord
like it's for heaven's sake
when it's all about you
and the point at which you'll break
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