Up among the chimney pots
a mixed choir of local cats
above the sooty branches of the tree
greets darkness with a one, two, three.

New loves and lost loves; loves grown cold
human love, puppy love, love of gold.
Notesters note and the lyricist writes
of smokes and fumes, delights and frights.

They eulogise each star they see
lament a time when the sky was free
when their fur was clean and the air smelt nice
and they sang in fields of corn and mice.

And they yammer and yowl all through the night
piano, crescendo, black notes, white;
fortissimo, caterwaul to a grey-scale
until dawn makes their voices pale.

They cannot turn the tiles to turf
but still they sing for all they're worth
and they'll sing again, promulgate their truth
tomorrow night up on the roof.

New Text