If you are leaving. Please still say goodbye. And if you are leaving can you. Leave me my Silver Jubilee mug. My old flag. My dark woods. My sunrise. If you are leaving. Can you please say goodbye. And if you are leaving. Can you leave your number. I'll pack my case. And get in a cab and wave you goodbye. I'll drive in the early hours down to the sea. I'll stand on the beach where the storms amplify. All the voices I care for. And the ghosts I hold sacred. In this alignment that lasts for a day. There's nothing that I can do anyway anyway. What am I doing here waiting for you. So rebuild the railways. Firm up all the roads. No one is leaving now this is your home. And the horses the foxes the sheep and the cows. Bow down on their knees. To the fanfare of progress it's always the same. We cheer on the clowns as they roll into town. But their faces look tired and sad to me. And carry the terrible things they have seen. All lost in a painting of a sky coloured oil. In this Merrieland. You are my crows my window rattlers. Perfumed valley criers. Oh the dark ponds of Merrie England. The deep space echoes. Get on your mo…. What did you say? Get on your mobilised hooters …. Get hold of those mobilised hooters. You can fly to the moon one day. They are half price. This is not rhetoric. It comes from my heart. I love this country. Daneland I am your kin. You were the ones who work together. Put the money in the pockets. Of the few and their fortunes. Who crowd the school benches. And jeer at us all because they don't care about us. They are graceless and you shouldn't be with them. Because they are all disconnected and raised up in mansions. And two hundred plastic bags in a whales stomach. So you turn to the trident. Are we green are we pleasant?. We are not either of those Father. We are a shaking wreck where nothing grows. Lost in the sky coloured oils of Merrieland. You can fly to the moon… one day