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by Cheryl Frances-Hoad From The Thought Machine (2016)

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English source: Kate Wakeling

He’ll steal your keys,
he’ll steal your cheese,
he’ll steal your dreams from out your earhole.

He’ll steal your spoons,
he’ll steal your tunes,
he’ll steal the ball and score an own goal.

He’ll steal your van,
he’ll steal your plan,
he’ll steal the goldfish and the fish bowl.

Why he’ll steal the lot from East to West,
he’ll steal from North to South,
right before he steals the song I’m singing here clean out my


Cheryl Frances-Hoad

Cheryl's music has been described as “like a declaration of faith in the eternal verities of composition” (The Times), with “a voice overflowing not only with ideas, but also with the discipline and artistry necessary to harness them” (The…

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