They gathered at midnight, the motley crew
Steve had no idea what they would have to do
He had seen an ad in the local rag
And had immediately grabbed his man bag
The ad was cryptic, it didn’t give much away
Bring a spade, a doily and a bale of hay
It was a strange list, but he did as he was told
Christ, what was he doing – he was 75 years old
Replying to an ad, following it through
He really truly, didn’t have a clue
He was taking a risk, chancing it all
An alien abduction, started to sound normal
Steve finally arrived at a field in Kent
To find a spaceship, where an alien leant
Beaconing to him, to join him on board
For some reason, it didn’t seem untoward
Steve ran chanting ‘eclectic, artisan, niche ‘
Joining him for a hob nob and some quiche
Steve and Malcolm the alien danced all night
Steve was loving the vibe, but try as he might
He couldn’t relax, he couldn’t calm down
He was still wearing his PD frown
Then Steve awoke, rigid, unable to turn
Next the dystonia began to return
Steve was sad, he had left his dream
Where everything wasn’t as it would seem
Where aliens existed, and Steve was free
And it wasn’t all about disease, and sodding PD
