Under the clock at Waterloo our rendezvous would be
We’d met through online dating – you Googled and found me
We’d corresponded daily, I thought I knew you well
Your interests, your family, and when your birthday fell
I knew your favourite TV show, your dislike of traffic cones
We were clearly most compatible, I could feel it in me bones

I’d dreamed about this moment, I counted down the hours
I tried to picture how you’d look – I bought a bunch of flowers
Your hair flows like a flock of goats, your teeth a flock of sheep
Your breasts a pair of grazing fawns – you’d let me have a peep
Your lips like scarlet ribbon, your neck an ivory tower
Your hips the rolling hillsides – I need a quick cold shower
Your ankles, finely sculpted, your calf (a baby cow?!!!) ..........
Your thighs pure alabaster – that’s far enough for now

So back to Waterloo, and there I sat with flowers in hand
I wore my Sunday best attire – by heck, I did look grand
I’d showered and scrubbed until I shone, I’d had my hair cut short
I’d splashed out on some aftershave – the irresistible sort
I’d worked out how I’d greet you, I’d serenade you with a song
I’d worked out every detail – what could possibly go wrong?

The train’s arrival brought a tear to my eye, the way only diesel can
Instinctively I stood erect like a proper gentleman
You said I couldn’t miss you, you’d be head to toe in pink
I knew the aftershave was working when the porter gave me a wink
The rush hour rabble hit the gate, commuters pushed and shoved
I eagerly awaited my first glimpse of my beloved
My deepest dreams and fantasies were about to be fulfilled
Alas, the main attraction turned out not to be as billed

You alighted from the train and hit the platform with a thump
Not so much a young gazelle, I’d call it more of a “gazump”
And as you crossed the platform I could hear a growing rumble
Your alabaster thighs had clearly seen too much fruit crumble
A swift retreat was called for, so I scarpered straight away
I shoved the flowers in the porter’s hands and I think it made his day
I legged it out of the station, and I legged it up the street
And I went back to the dating site and I frantically hit “delete”

To the lady in pink, should she read these lines, I admit a little shame
But to describe yourself the way you did, you’ve only yourself to blame
Needless to say, you didn’t find me under the clock at Waterloo
But now I’m corresponding with the porter, and I guess that’s thanks to you