Crossing The Floor
Sunset and closing door
And one fresh fax for me:
And may there be more crossing of the floor
À la the SDP.
For on my side the rulers seem asleep
Or full of froth and foam,
Whilst I withdraw from what a groundless creep
Might call his home.
Twilight's division bell
And my soft bum to park:
Perhaps I'm all the Tories have to sell.
My horse is dark.
Still, tho' I'm fresh from packing up my case,
And fancy Tony's jaw,
I shall not meet Liz Davies face to face
When I have crost the floor.