Fraught with ginger headlights blowing
Down the wind that keeps you knowing
About the lost temptation longed for
From the highland town on the foreshore,
We see a dark presence engulf
What was once a mere meeting post
Of ornaments and statues speaking out
To all that hear them scream and shout.

Tiring from the overtime unpaid
The pretty ladies fade away
Dreading the fifth movement of the piece,
Though waiting as though ill at ease
Along the back decks of the seventh sage
Never longing or showing their grace
The forever lost again find a place.