Joyce’s Hut

Drifting sideways is what I like on a Monday
Sinking quietly and thinking violently
What’s that you say?
Drivin through on a fulsome moon in the night time
I can see what the city has done to the pipeline

Hopeless sliding I want no fighting in my car
It seems weird but the farmer has sheared over too far
The birds are out but I see no doubt of a cure
For all the things that go waiting within far are fewer