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I sleep half the night, we’re up at first light
And soon we’re off to the west
We think Mullingar is simply too far
And breakfast in Ardee is best
On our way to the start Mark takes his part
As director of rhyme production
There’s one about Cork that ends in pork
A sad case of standards reduction
His musical preview provides a cue
To all the places we’ll room
Few are missed and if it’s true to his list
It’ll be a week of heartache and gloom
We park up and re-fill, then at the first hill
Derek takes off like a train
He stops to wait, but I don’t take the bait
He’s got to live up to his name
The wind comes in waves, and I feel like we’re slaves
Like hamsters turning the wheels
There’s no sign of the coast, but we’re making the most
Of dry roads, blue skies & green fields.
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