Leaving ugly, ugly Newark (snigger -
Heathrow may well be far too bigger
But at least it's bally English)
For decorative bliss.

In blathering, uninspiring masses,
I'm keeping an eye on the Gatwick lasses,
Outrageously pert in their scarlet skirts
And their tailored shirts. Wow, it almost hurts.

I cannot see the moon, my dear.
I'm sure it must be somewhere near.

Below our complimentary breeze,
The clouds are cliffs and breaking seas.

I know you'll hide away this time
From even this, a harmless rhyme
To celebrate my coming home -
Though never quite. And still alone.