I see them.
Bent over their soggy bottoms in the Bake tent.
Sprawled on the sofa shrieking in delighted horror
Running up the stairs off the dance floor
Faces lit.
They are still there.
The bastards don’t get all the airtime.
I see them.
Bent over their soggy bottoms in the Bake tent.
Sprawled on the sofa shrieking in delighted horror
Running up the stairs off the dance floor
Faces lit.
They are still there.
The bastards don’t get all the airtime.