The grind of gears the winding of the winch
The ladder’s hoisted up another inch
Don’t flinch or you might yet be overheard
Surrender to the rhythm and the word

Stuck in a place where tom toms pound the beat
And brushes are not used to sweep the street
Depleted chords strike twice without a third
They can’t afford the rhythm and the word

All the agents have taken to the trees
Pretending they’re not part of the disease
Their sleazy pleas round up the PR herd
Trying to tease the rhythm and the word

The ladies have retired to chew cigars
The gentlemen may soon unclip their bras
The bar staff are unshaven not unstirred
They’ve travelled far the rhythm and the word

Thai food floods through the saloon serving hatch
Pool-room conversation turns to the match
You catch on quick, resistance is absurd
It’s hard to lick the rhythm and the word

The coke and smoke brigade are on the prowl
One eye fixed on the game one on the foul
Their howls would die down if the wildcat purred
And lay beside the rhythm and the word

Performing slinky shows nine times a day
Her high-wire act, the aerial display
Amazingly she remains undeterred
Aiming to free the rhythm and the word

The doors and windows are still being closed
Days after the last body decomposed
That nose dive took the one surviving bird
Who overlooked the rhythm and the word

Back on the ground you’re close to biting dust
Those lofty aspirations turned to rust
It just dawns on you you’re simply a nerd
Who’s gone beyond the rhythm and the word

You occupy the space between the notes
You’re down with the tempo up with the quotes
As votes are cast, the last voice sounds so slurred
It’s caught on fast the rhythm and the word

The losers let the winners stand and gloat
Still time to regain power from the remote
To float like a butterfly not a turd
And learn to play the rhythm and the word

© Simon Charterton 2004