Christmas Fowl Market

Christmas fowl market
A high class young lady trots
Scalding hot pots hit the cobbles
Into tributaries of hay and muck

Bodies embalmed in the bog
A mother’s son
What’s a war between friends?

With the snow picking up pace
And I said “here, your carriage awaits”
You were like gold coins falling from the thatched roof
Space age transmitters and hand held instant cinema

I must have turned down a wrong street
All of these period costumes
And cowboy shows in between laser gun stalls
What’s a war between friends?

By the time we got to Teeling Street Font
I was in fisherman’s knots saying it wasn’t love
I was on tendеr hooks
And at the search I was candid
Said “good man, don’t handle my wеapon like that”
Well I got right whacked for it!
As my friends were led away into dark rooms
I was all clinging on with wet fingers
To us eating chips
Wrapped in yesterday’s Western People
At the Christmas Fowl Market
Through the snow, just a stone’s throw from here
Just a cart’s width from you
Just a lips width from you
And the heat of your body
And the chips in yesterday’s Western People