Из альбома: An Entire Wardrobe of Doubt and Uncertainty
Gas lamp gone, I stumble, sneeze. The dust in darkness makes me wheeze
And fidgets in my fingers flipping files that start with «f» I’ll set alight
Ha’penny gone from a threepenny purse !
No room for rum when taxes come first !
Alfreds and Davids and titles and writs !
Yanked from their holes and rendered to bits !
I’ll burn the Lord Mayor asleep in his bed
If he’s dreaming my name as a number, instead !
I’m well done with fines; I’ll no longer be traced !
My own, and all «f's» in town hall are erased !
Mrs. Fisk is now a maiden. Mary Fenton not deceased
And Arthur Fuller’s fortune’s bound for probate lest he file a brand new will
An evening fire, a high-backed chair… I burn away the coiling ink of a magistrate…
Sunlight wipes the sleep from cobblestones. I tumble ditchwards, laughing
Next time taxes come around, I’ll tip my hat and drink three penn’orth rum