My car red and derelict pumps life like a cigarette goes here, goes everywhere its fuel my fresh air I call it my factory My factory the dog and I climb together high where the lowlands lie snaking down we two cry barren derelict this land we dry there's some more verses to this poem but I have to find them. This one was written in the late 80s, when I was parked up in a caravan on a vegetable farm in the United Kingdom. We didn't call this climate change then, but we were well aware of pollution, especially in the northern hemisphere
My Car Red and Derelict
My Car Red and Derelict
My Car Red and Derelict
My car red and derelict pumps life like a cigarette goes here, goes everywhere its fuel my fresh air I call it my factory My factory the dog and I climb together high where the lowlands lie snaking down we two cry barren derelict this land we dry there's some more verses to this poem but I have to find them. This one was written in the late 80s, when I was parked up in a caravan on a vegetable farm in the United Kingdom. We didn't call this climate change then, but we were well aware of pollution, especially in the northern hemisphere