A grey box on the edge of town,
Some corners straight up and down,
Inside there could be anything,
The facade is faceless and unrevealing.
It could house a house for a mouse,
A rat for a cat or some tat for a twat,
Most likely the latter the cat is not fatter,
Sat beside a lorry guarding some matter.
Over time the grey box multiplied,
A blue one a yellow one loads I spied,
While all the shops on the street closed
And the candlestick maker cried.
One day I saw inside the grey box,
When I crept as cunningly as a fox,
What I saw to this day still shocks,
A box sat on top of a box,
Sat beside a box…