Doom, gloom, balloon

The birthday balloon was 40 a year ago

Doom, gloom, groan

Not because the years pass by, like days for a fly

Maybe because me and Rafferty need a nice space

To keep our souls in a tidy place

Mood bobs around anyway, it will always be so

There forever until I go, the swinging

Not in the way you’re thinking, Barry Welsh

At times the way forward is not forward at all

But to end the call

The call of friends, music and art

To pop off, long before I become an old fart

The worms would be happy, but I would be rather krappy

Best to ride through the rubbish, fight like fuck like a pirhahna fish

Then Biddy Biddy Buck Rogers when I appreciate the flowers