Stamford hill marina

There's a brewing storm
as i bob up and down
like the raven
just about to poke your eye's out.
Evereyone can feel it
as they bob up and down.
Swans are ducking,
minds are speeding.
The tape box is shouting
the right words.
Anarchy!
My bags look at me,
securing they are me,
loving the sound of energy.
The city of forty
are happy with no stone.