Upon Westminster Bridge

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
It's good this place, innit.
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
There's no way you can ignore it, man,
A sight so touching in its majesty:
It's so wicked, it's sick.
This City now doth like a garment wear
Its threads, they is fly.
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
It's totally quiet outside the club,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
There's loads of buildings and boats innit
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
Even out in da countryside;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Get me some shades, I is blinded
Never did sun more beautifully steep
That sun, man, it's burning up
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
There's no escaping it
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
But I is chilled
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
That water has a mind of its own.
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
This place is snoozy;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
And the clubs they is closed.