The marvel has gone. For good.
Now, nothing ever can come to the wood.
Pour ocean, sun and the dismantled blue
Moon away. Pack up every star
That ever shone
Like a wrong 'un. For today,
Jonny has gone.
He was forever; our noon, our midnight,
Our Wednesday, our open mike and non-working week,
Our south-east, our north-west, our Sunday best.
So, paint every Panza commander psychedelic
Crack the white necks of the rich
Pitch traffic cones over copper's heads
Jump up and down on Panda cars
Let the mourners sing. Let the coffin ring:
Silence the phone.
Jonny's home.
Stop all the stop-clocks. Take the day off.
For today, Jonny is king.
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