The Last Refugee

And it′s also the end of broadcasting for Thursday
The end of broadcasting for 1970 (Seven to severe hail, nine)
Decreasing six in Humber later
Rain then showers, moderate to poor becoming good
Southwesterly, six to gale eight, occasionally, severe gale nine

At the third stroke, it will be 11: 24 and 50 seconds

At the third stroke, it will be 11: 25, precisely
This is the British Broadcasting Corporation
At the third stroke it will be 8: 57, precisely
In north southwesterly, 4 or 5 otherwise variable rainfall

Mainly northerly in the southeast
A happy new year to you all
At the third stroke, it will be 11: 25, precisely

Goodnight, everyone
Lie with me now
Under lemon tree skies
Show me the shy slow smile you keep, hidden by warm brown eyes

Catch the sweet hover of lips just barely apart
And wonder at loves, sweet ache and the wild beat of my heart
Oh, rhapsody tearing me, apart
And I dreamed I was saying goodbye to my child
She was taking a last look, at the sea
Wading through dreams

Up to our knees in warm ocean swells
While bathing belles
Soft beneath hard bitten, shells punch their IPhones
Erasing the numbers of redundant lovers, and search the horizon

And you'll find my child
Down by the shore
Digging around, for a chain or a bone
Searching the sand for a relic washed, up by the Sea
The last refugee