Trumpets cry out from a golden stereo
I feel like a strange cross between a buffalo
And an exhausted rhino dragged by a tornado
Drawn to the hot smell of caffeine and tobacco
My mind returns from the bold indigo vertigo
By a willow tree in the eccentric streets of Chicago

As I take a sip of my double espresso
A see the golden gazing eyes of a crow
He seemed to be a regular to the meadow
And he was quick to go for my elbow

I had a salad with my risotto
Tomato, sweet potato, pistachio
And the soft green flesh of avocado
My little black fix made me glow
Perhaps I could go back to Moscow
Or sit in the picnics of Tokyo

Or the heart of Glasgow.
Wherever I go,
I will know
There  will always be an espresso

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