It was three in the morning,

Rubbing my eyes, still yawning,

Awake in the middle of the night,

But words I had to write,

Words jumbled, in my head,

I could not go back to bed,

Things went so slow,

Then the words began to flow,

People that I woke, began to curse,

As the words, fitted into a verse,

So precise, so neat,

All I could hear was a rock and roll beat,

It was a classic twelve bar sound,

That left good vibrations, all around,

There was no way, I was going back to bed,

Not with these words, and sounds in my head,

My thoughts, were beginning to taper,

So I put my thoughts onto paper,

What seemed to suit the music, that I heard,

Was each, and every word.

 

Steve Corke

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