Any Old Iron

He’s a modern Harold Steptoe With his reclamation machine Very few planets on the Galaxy On which he’s not already been. He’s got every known Wormhole Marked on his Galaxy Survey Map And he proceeds always with caution In case the bizzies have laid a trap. He likes to arrive early morning An hour or two before dawn And if it’t not well tied down In a blink of an eye it’s gone. Atomised and miniaturised And stored in a stasis cell Until he finds the right market Where he’s knows it will sell. He’s a bit of a cultural joker With his sophisticated tricks His speciality these days being Making unlikely civilisations mix. Archaeologists and Architects Ponder their theories witn great care As to how the Temples of Angkor Watt Had suddenly been built just there. The Galactic Culture Police Force Know exactly just who’s been. It’s our Modern Harold Steptoe And his reclamation machine. For too many eons they’ve tried With red and embarrassed faces To explain to Planetary Wardens why They suddenly have large empty spaces. He’s a modern Harold Steptoe With his reclamation machine Very few planets on the Galaxy On which he’s not already been. The bizzies want him desperately But he’s very seldom seen And by the time they get there It’s too late he’s already been.