The Confusing British.

The British are of music buyers,
And say they with harmony are flyers,
But will then get on a train,
And feel not an ounce of pain,
The verbal diarrhoea,
They will in fact hold dear,
And will not be disappointed,
With messages disjointed,
Made from a word bank,
Which does out the message clank.

A computer from the bank the words does pick,
And does then sentences together stick,
Punk, clunk, clunkety-kunk,
Upon an ear each word does clunk,
The sentences so unfluid,
To harmony sulphuric acid.
But still Britons these noises seem to like
These noises so deathlike,
Which show the future trend,
And spell of harmony the end.

(Human beings with inner harmonies shouldn't have to put up with it.)


Whether I like it or not, I do have to use trains. But I won't get on a London
bus unless forced to and even in a matter of life and death, I wouldn't get on
the terrible Croydon Tram Link without thinking about it first.

---May 11, 2009---

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