There collecting paper veils, maps to nowhere,

Taking journeys on crutches which paralyse.

You’ll give them an apple they’ll call it a pear

And they will laugh at the cunning disguise

There building a boat designed to drown

And say ‘you’ll find yourself out at sea’

You want to be King but they’ll make you a clown

Whilst smiling through plastic and drinking their tea.

There making a tower towards nothing at all

They’ll tell me it’s a window when I know it’s a wall