A will meet B on the road out of town.
They'll walk to the top of the hill and look down
On houses and fields and horses and people,
The man who refuses to leave the church steeple.

C is alone. Three is a crowd.
Some people believe that she is too loud,
But all on her own she's as quiet as a mouse.
She feels less alone when she exits her house.

She's glad to be C when a bee attacks A.
There's nothing to D till the end of the day.
The gold E of evening brings people outside.
The old gold bald eagles still seek a young bride.

They polish their heads and they wash both their feet.
They put on their suits and they strut down the street.
They love nothing more than the thrill of the chase.
They're fully aware that they're last in the race.

To win once or twice would be nice, they concede,
Or having the feeling they're holding the lead.
What counts most of all is that they're taking part.
The heart-breaking losses are good for the heart.

All the young F-ers will gather together,
Discussing the state of the arts and the weather,
And let words of abuse at all passers-by
Instil metaphysical doubt till they cry.

The G's are the guys who dangle their heads
Over oblivion in their garden sheds,
With their experiments involving explosions,
Enough to take out a large horse for the Trojans.

H is a house full of song and self-tanning,
Of dreaming and scheming and plotting and planning.
Nothing but banning could stop them from being
A world-famous R and B band who are freeing

Millions of minds from the modern world's trance.
Asses will follow and start a new dance.
They've already played in the pub near the bog,
Where they freed the mind of a three-legged dog.

'I' up to 'U' are all watching TV,
With plates of ham sandwiches to go with their tea.
And V has been blindfolded, tied to a chair,
As style-conscious burglars discuss what they wear.

'W' represents Siamese twins.
One looks uneasy. The other one grins.
They look down on X. It's marking a spot.
Within a few seconds or less, it will not.

If G has his way, it soon won't exist.
It's only a bog so it won't be much missed.
All the pub's drinkers will come out to see it.
Hundreds looked on when he blew up a Fiat.

Y is alone as he looks at the stars.
The road where he walks is deserted of cars.
But then he meets C and they walk on together.
Company makes them feel light as a feather.

The small 'Z's of sleep are like bees or like flies
That fly round their heads with a faint buzzing noise.
They bat away 'Z's with their hands and walk on.
The last light-blue traces of daylight have gone.