I can’t decide if I love you or not,
‘Though Ian Nairn said he really liked you –
A man who usually knew what was what –
And I think the Arctic Monkeys did too.
You look bleak with your empty winter trees,
Like a fortress where tragedy resides;
You look as comfortable as scuffed knees,
A ghastly cake with people baked inside.
Yet your streets in the sky could thrive once more,
Your St Clements panels gleam in the rain,
Treacly tea brew behind your thousand doors;
A coral reef of neighbourliness again.
I love you. I love you. I love you not.
I love you. I love you not. I love you.