There was a bridge, a trip switch between my stomach and my sanity

I was on my own 52nd street, heckled at for poor time keeping

Charlie parker ducking a cymbal  

Only severed syncopation between my lungs and my breath. 

Every time jump leads to get them moving together. Every time a panic attack

 I'd cave under invisible pressure, trying to be present,

melt in the mirror, take in the bigger picture  

The only time I didn't break down was on a sofa, with Rick Stein repeats

So that's where I'd be for months.

Economic agents

Workers wear overtime on the catwalk 

It's vogue for the everyman 

I do solemnly declare I did not enjoy my day off

I started work in my sleep and finished in A&E

 Ah but...

'In my day we worked when we were dead.' 

More schemes

I paid by finance and felt as though I was cheating on my wife. 

Tell me why I'm headed to jail?

Because you still haven't paid the interest on Sunday's lunch.