Mister Jones

If you're sitting comfortably and have locked your mobile 'phones, I'll tell you all a story about Indiana Jones I met him on a wooden bench whilst strolling through a park He was mumbling incoherently about some missing ark At some point back in history, a loaded ark set sail The animals had disembarked according to his tale Instead, some coins and jewellery were loaded from the dock But several chests were not secured and the hull began to rock I offered him some peppermints to show my gratitude And listened hard for any hints of track or latitude His plans seemed very tentative but he clearly had ambition But didn't even know the name of this ark, or its position. The headland where the ark decayed was really quite remote And the islanders with crates of gold, they didn't want to gloat The bodies of the final crew were never, ever found But Mister Jones was quite convinced - that ship had run aground. The barmaid had a hunch the wreck was east of the Azores But she had no time for banter, 'cos she had to do her chores If she shared her speculation, she'd be scolded by her mum - Were it not for weekly meetings, they would not be selling rum. I never went back to that pub to meet that motley crew Whose plans seemed quite ridiculous, I had better things to do. If you are ever tempted to sail away in stormy weather Steer clear of men with stubble, wide-brimmed hats and shabby leather. Arks are ships of substance with many planks and beams Losing one is careless and much harder than it seems If a fellow on a park bench engages you in conversation Stand up to him and shout “Raid an ark of known location!”