The lights in the car park shine out like a ray,
The signals are there to be seen,
But what are the signals, and what do they say?
Are they red? Are they amber or green?
I know how "I'm under authority" feels,
You have to work inside the law,
But here there appear to be wheels within wheels:
The car park's confused and unsure.
Conventions demand that liaisons take place
Lest ancient tradition be crossed:
The law seems to set such a punishing pace,
I fear that the car park is lost.