Wandering about a lonely street
Gesturing to everyone I meet
A manhole cover I kick and curse
It answers back: "Things could be worse"
Suddenly I am entombed by a reflection
That splits and blisters my complexion
Like a fit enacted
My body flipped and floundered
Deeper, deeper, I am sucked in
Into the depths of a baked bean tin
And the people on the street disappear
And as individual beans do reappear
All this through a visit to the city
The city that is "England's Glory"

Crawling thought the monoxide gloom
A weird old woman takes me to her room
And she points out the galatic zones
I sit and listen to her moans
In a bondage of spaghetti rings
I am enthralled as she shows me things
Things that belong to a bygone age
But no! It's just an old advert on the previous page
The page is turned
I'm back to the present
And the baked bean can does relent
And spews me forth
Onto this stage
The stage of a new age
The stage that is "England's Glory"