5th Avenue, Victor Street

It was three times two,

And time for me to go;

for I was in the crew,

and snailed through the show.

Taking my hide trench by hand,

I go out with an umbrella in tartan.

It was raining futile in all its sane,

the light was dark, as always in Britain.

The roads were filled, with tears of guilt

and the boy in need, didn’t have a sheet.

I felt my heart, against my mouth,

cause he was drenched, in his drought.

His shirt was torn and patched his blazer,

and water adorned that gabardine and leather.

Girls in Westwood and men in Givenchy,

but still none turned, walking that abbey.

I kept walking the other side of street,

thinking of the boy, whose tomorrow was bleak.

I crossed that way and took his hand,

for then to notice, his eyes so bland.

He then got up and walked with me

through the door of the abbey, came a women wisely.

She asked my name, then took this claim;

and so did pronoun, with an exuberant sound.

The duke he was of Newcastle,

and looted and beaten, till blood was he;

A beautiful face in light of candle,

I saw him sleep at the abbey.

The king was told and so was the queen,

then knights arrived with their morphine;

So time went on and weeks had gone,

the word of mouth had spread in dawn.

A plan was so, that no one did know,

so the king came out and made a shout.

be I would happy and so would thy,

be flood, be life, be fest or plight.

The law was new, with a big issue;

that no one would sleep, without their food;

and so should cloth and then should live,

and so will shine, the kingdom so shrewd.