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Where do you go to, my darling,
when the dawn creeps over the hill?
when the bullocks are stirring, the railways yawn
and the creatures of night are still?

Do you hang your cloak in the wardrobe?
Do you put your teeth in a glass?
Do you stretch out on silken padding
and wait for the daytime to pass?

Where do you go to, my darling,
when the stars fade into the sky?
when the bats are hung on the bat rack
and the milkman’s float putters by?

Do you shut your eyes on the morning?
Do you pull down a lid on the day?
And does blood trickle over your smile
as the world wakes up to its play?

Where do you go to, my darling,
when the night has stabled his mare?
When the pubs vomit out the carousers,
and Farming Today hits the air?

Do you slip on your black silk pyjamas?
Do you get M.R. James from the shelf,
and pour out a nice Nuits St Georges?
Do you like having time to yourself?

Where do you go to, my darling,
when the moon sails into the blue;
when the owls have finished their owling -
and why can’t I go there too?

Do you have a quick drink on the way there?
Are you taking your work home as well?
Is your briefcase concealing a virgin?
Then you can go (darling) to hell.