One early evening at King's Cross
Where even angels feel a sense of loss
I was making up for last night's flu
For I hath fed on honey-dew.
Never one to miss a trick, I
Turned quite slow and gave the eye,
If my soul was meant for sale
Then why a man so old and frail?
A high court judge? Or drunk MP?
Paying for head and secrecy.
But slowly pulling along the side
I knew it wasn't for a ride
And winding down his window said
"I've lost my bloody A-Z.
