WHEN THE SUN WENT OUT

After the sun went out, it got quite grand.

On plonk and booze, all sorts, we got well shattered,

ambled our way around aimlessly, prattled,

leaves rustled as we smoked the limetree brand,

under them burning, tattered

old rags, and bones were searing.

We gabbed daft things, endearing,

savoured that end-of-summer scent.

We got it wrong. The world was at an end.