You were drinking tea with lime
Just behind the mime
Sparkling the limelights
In the darkness of the nights.
Your morning mouth
Was opened in Bournemouth.
There were the grey clouds
So loud.
All the timetables
Proved that you were an able.
There was the Battistini
And there was Christiani.
Catering is a hard job
Even if you are a child of the art
Playing darts.
Like everyone, you have forgotten
But not forgiven
All the forgeries that were given,
And although he was not an alien
All the waiters were waiting for Bob.