writin' now dunno
when it will stop
precious raindrops
a festival of them
this ghost ran into
in their thousands
precious stones
precious rocks
all ya have to do
is slowly pick 'em up
lay them down again
re-arranged less strange
as long as ya got
that hunter lovin' hope
and the veneration to know
your lowly station
in this place of creation
nuthin' will bind you
to the pomposity wheel
that makes us old
smokin' on the pipes
of self-acclamation
- from London Works
