Far East

We talk of a columbarium, a niche
in the final wall, that's us - for all;
no escape, don't bullshit me you don't care,
We'll ask you again when you can't breathe properly.

The trees sway, shadows on the white sand,
where shall we scatter - London or La-La land?
Read my goddamn book,
start at twenty five,
stop at sixty five and then just start again.

You think it's impossible, you 'aint seen nothin' yet,
because that's just as good as it will ever get,
you don't want this and you don't want that,
you'd be damn lucky if you were in the seat where I sat.

Oh yes, the Far East - the bloody heat get's to you,
never mind the alcohol drenched panoramic view.