Goldfish, swimming round his bowl,
Turning fast, then slow.
Never leaves this poxy hole:
Think he’ll ever know?

Through the glass he stares afar:
Wondrous world beyond!
Too damned cramped, this bloody jar,
Much prefer a pond.

Watches people walking by
Free as birds of air,
Makes me wanna bleedin’ cry:
Thinks, in bleak despair.

What a boring way to live,
All the things he’s missed,
Thinks: I’ll take a sedative,
Better still, get pissed.

Goldfish, trapped inside a glass,
What a bloody bind!
Doesn’t realise, silly arse,
The bowl is in his mind.

Round and round and round he turns,
Slow, then fast, then slow,
Silly bugger never learns;
Think he’ll ever know?

[The above was first published in the 1987 anthology We’re Coming For Your Telecom Shares.]

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