A mile and a half on a bus takes a long time. The odour of old prison food takes a long time to pass you by. When you've been inside. Day upon day of this wandering gets you down. Nobody gives you a chance or a dollar in this old. town. Hovering silence from you is a giveaway. Squalor and smoke's not your style. "I don't like this place". We better go. Then I compare notes with your older sister. I am a lazy gett she is as pure as the cold driven snow. She accepts my confession. What did you learn from your time in the solitary. Cell of your mind?. There was noises distractions from anything good. And the old prison food. Colour my life with the chaos of trouble. Cause anything's better than posh isolation. I missed the bus. You were laid on your back. With the boy from the arab strap. With the boy from the arab strap. It's something to speak of the way you are feeling. To crowds there assembled. Do you ever feel you have gone too far?. Everyone suffers in silence a burden. The man who drives minicabs down in Old Compton. The Asian man. With his love hate affair. With his racist clientele. A central location for you is a must as you stagger. about making free with your lewd and lascivious boasts. We know you are soft cause we've all seen you dancing. We know you are hard cause we all saw you drinking. from noon. Until noon again. You're the boy with the filthy laugh. You're the boy with the arab strap. Strapped to the table with suits from the shelter. shop. Comic celebrity takes a back seat as the cigarette. catches. And sets off the smoke alarm. What do you make of the cool set in London?. You're constantly updating your hit parade of your ten biggest wanks. She's a waitress and she's got style. Sunday bathtime could take a while