While heading for a night of boozing
I had some thoughts I wasn't using.
I gave them to a homeless man
Who held a battered copper can.

He used those thoughts to make a car
That's smooth and quiet and travels far,
Using only jam for fuel.
It's quicker than a frightened mule.

His car has been a massive hit.
It's tender in its dealings with
Its dearly-loved environment.
There's more emissions from a tent.

Celebrities and leading lights,
Some little more than scenic sights,
Have all been quick to join the craze,
Heaping overwhelming praise

On the homeless man who made
This car that runs on marmalade.
You'll see them parked inside the gates
Of houses owned by sporting greats.

He's made a fortune from his cars,
And made friends with some movie stars.
Instead of dark, depressing pubs
You'll find him in exclusive clubs.

I've no regrets about the thoughts
That brought him cheques with many noughts.
If I had kept them for myself
They'd still be on a mental shelf,

Or locked behind a cupboard door.
I tried to use my thoughts before.
This attempt resulted in
A hand grenade without a pin,

Two Swiss tourists in a tree
And many llamas running free.
Amongst the smoke and broken glass
A blood-stained, frightened priest said mass.