Time Tunnel

or the end of British Summertime.

Mojo the navigator,
turns onto an unfamiliar road.
Got my man-boy workin.
Says the puppet master,
breathing-in a shot of rarified air.
Only lovers of pure CO2
will be left alive by the end of the month.
That glorious day when nothing happens.
Just the clocks keep on ticking an hour behind.


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