Theme Time Radio (Urbia Version)

It’s a Wellington wind

Rolling fog off the waterfront

And I

Under the frailest of moons

An open bracket in the sky

With her heels in her handbag

She’s walking barefoot through Frank Kitts Park

Past the quietest of men perfecting tai chi in the dark

Two lovers in a window

The wait time on the helpline is simply absurd

A nightshift nurse has the roughest smokers’ cough you’ve heard

Someone singing Hank Williams

A cough rings out on a floor above

A writer finds only the dreariest phrases

Since nothing much rhymes with love

They say our cities are sinking

She tells him the moustache simply has to go

His drunken indignation would be worthy

Of an exploitative reality show

It’s a Wellington wind

Rolling fog off the waterfront

And I

Under the frailest of moons

An open bracket in the sky