one last dose...
Wonders never cease
This morning he made the tea in the wrong cup
Now he thinks he’s upset the balance
Of hope over fear in a world of false dawns
Where the sun doesn’t rise and a new day isn’t born
So should he give up because of the cup
So innocent and white from which to sup
Is just too broad for his lip to fit tight
As he slurps the teat to extract the tea that lies within
Wonders never cease
May your wonders never cease
If you’re a cynic poet doctor witch biographer or priest
May your platelet count increase
That the morning ritual has been disturbed by weight of ceramic seems highly absurd
But now the cup is taunting with its profile
So clumsily it has defiled
The perfect day as it slips its shackles
He fears the sound of the ceramicist cackles
As he sets in motion his demonic scheme to upset the boat as it drifts down stream
Wonders never cease
May your wonders never cease
If you’re a cynic poet doctor witch biographer or priest
May your platelet count increase
London never sleeps
London never sleeps
London never sleeps
London never sleeps