I’m a bit under the weather up here in Montrose,
It started with a splash of rain, then every ruddy thing froze,
These Arctic conditions are really getting up my snotty nose,
I’m running round with a proboscis that both sucks and blows.
Dunfermline town is old, grey and dour,
Full of faces long and prospects poor,
Where every declivity becomes a hill to climb,
Where they shuffle through Kingsgate Mall, killing time,
Where the young have gone off, God knows where,
To them all that matters is it’s not here, but there.
I watch the doings of our leaders, so sage and wise,
I shake my head, give a heartfelt sigh and roll my eyes,
Once I used to rant and rave but today that’s not my style,
Now I only offer a word to them wise-guys, and a sardonic smile.
Back then their clodhopping missteps and monumental errors
Had me waking, screaming in my bed, gripped by night terrors,
No more sitting in sweaty (sometimes slightly soiled) nightshirts,
Now on Fluoxetine I feel fine- apart from the odd bout of weltshmerz.