The Highwayman -sort of.
The wind was a torrent of smogness among the neon signs
The moon was a ghostly galleon caught up in the power lines
The road was a ribbon of tail-lights across the urban moor
And the stockbroker came driving
Driving, driving,
In his BMW driving, up to the motel door.
He'd a burberry scarf around his neck, and a rolex round his wrist
A coat of blackened silk he wore and he smelt of lavender mist
His Brogues were the softest leather and made to the best design
And he came with his teeth a-twinkle
His cufflinks all a-twinkle
His i-phone five, a-twinkle under the motel sign.
.........and I can't be bothered any more.