Nowhere To Run
For they covered the face of the whole earth, so that the land was darkened – Exodus 10:15
I'm in a fix, I'm in a stew, I'm also in a jam;
The motorway has ninety lanes, I can't see where I am.
Can't see the forest for the wood, can't see the wood for trees,
Can't see the trees for tarmac, won't someone help me, please?
I only want a picnic, and a pint of country ale,
But I've been stuck in traffic with my nose against a tail;
The radio informs me of congestion on the earth.
I wouldn't mind, but I've been stuck here since my date of birth.
I grew up on the back-seat, with a belt around my waist;
I've finished all my sandwiches (some ancient salmon paste);
In 2207, Mum set off to visit Tesco.
We haven't budged an inch, and I have never been al fresco.
My school was through the sun-roof, where I learned about the sky,
I'm asking 'Have we got there yet?' She gives me no reply.
I want to smell some 'flowers' and I want to hear a 'bird',
But Mum says I'm impatient, and that is her final word.
I've never seen the verge, although I hope, when I am older,
I'll maybe glimpse old-fashioned little sections of hard shoulder.
'Mum, what's a sheep? A cow? A horse? ' And still I am ignored.
It's not that I don't love her, but blimey, am I bored.
