He’s now familiar with the gnawing of the hungry hearts,

They’re crying out the tears of starving paddy fields.

He sees alone the white washed faces at the window pane,

and he knows of rainbow coloured eyes of cellophane.

The green and white enamelled pictures in his pocket book,

A mirrored image of his custard coloured limousine.

The shattered pieces of his gin and tonic on the floor,

Transparent top hats lifting heads of state across the room.

The aromatic strings of cannabis have destroyed his soul,

The bent guitar that struck the bell of rock and roll.