Atkin-James
The storm has dumped a mirror in the street
A Jaguar goes by like the fastest MTB in all the fleet
The girl at the wheel is food for heroes
Her hubs full of haloes are strobing like a finger dialling zeroes
She has to get home to the Vale of Health
She has to get out of Notting Hill
Would she care for us cripples if she could?
Does her throbbing four-point-two shyly beat for me and you beneath the hood?
The Jag is shedding tears along the airflow
And its plum-coloured lustre is sobbing like the deep end of the rainbow
She has to get home to the Vale of Health
She has to get out of Notting Hill
And back to her nest in amongst the wealth
Why pretend our fortunes touch her heart?
The supermarket windows have shivered in the street and come apart
The girl in the E-type cares for no-one
Her Firestones go trailing spray through trembling reflections of the neon
She has to get home to the Vale of Health
She has to get out of Notting Hill
And back to her nest in amongst the wealth
Where the rain falls warm and the winds don't chill
Her Firestones go trailing spray
They spin, they grip, they whip away
Through trembling reflections of the lights of intersections
And the brightly flourished crayon of the neon ...