Reclining Sudan.

Do I look like the sort of man 

that worry’s about you selecting me

I could always select myself 

roll up some green sleeves 

read out aloud a cracker joke 

season my greetings 

with a pinch of salt 

look I spilt the salt 

And I wear a tartan cloak.

A question of consciousness 

a red drawn back cloak 

strange place to hold confession 

in a reclining Sudan 

Room for one more or is it twos a crowd 

do have licences to film in this part of town.
Don’t worry about me I’m new to this town 

but hound goes wherever I go 

he’s great at telling jokes you see 

we found we from the same ancestral tree 

And the timbre of our voices he has a cousin 

called Rowlf who taught me the piano 

and how to interpret dreams.