Techni Tou Dromou

 **[Intro]**

Yeah…

From Manchester to Birmingham,

Steel forged in Sheffield,

Art on the walls…

Techni Tou Dromou.

**[Verse 1]**

Based in Manchester, where the rain hits hard,

Made in Birmingham, leaving my mark,

Tempered with Sheffield steel, forged for the real,

Standing on the streets with an iron-clad feel.

Because you know I'm real, no counterfeit deal,

Rolling through the city with a heart made of steel,

Graffiti on the walls, murals in the street,

Every corner got a rhythm, every pavement got a beat.

From Liverpool to Leicester, travelling the scene,

Every town in between, you know where I've been,

Colours on the brickwork, stories on the wall,

Street-art masterpieces rising tall.

**[Chorus]**

Techni Tou Dromou, that's the art of the road,

Make a hotel my abode, lighten up the load,

Travelling down the road, everywhere I go,

Forward I go, 'cause I'm a busy bee, you know.

Techni Tou Dromou, with the city underneath,

Got the northern rhythm and the southern beat,

From the urban concrete to the open street,

Keep moving forward 'til the journey's complete.

**[Verse 2]**

Got my name from ancient Greek, that's deep in the soul,

A philosophy of movement, always chasing the goal,

Never staying still, gotta travel and roam,

Every hotel I enter temporarily becomes home.

Manchester mornings, Birmingham nights,

Sheffield steel shining underneath the streetlights,

Liverpool colours, Leicester designs,

Every city leaves a little piece behind.

Graffiti artists painting dreams in the rain,

Murals turning concrete into something again,

Every wall tells a story, every journey's unique,

I read the whole city like an ancient Greek.

**[Chorus]**

Techni Tou Dromou, that's the art of the road,

Make a hotel my abode, lighten up the load,

Travelling down the road, everywhere I go,

Forward I go, 'cause I'm a busy bee, you know.

Techni Tou Dromou, with the city underneath,

Got the northern rhythm and the southern beat,

From the urban concrete to the open street,

Keep moving forward 'til the journey's complete.

**[Bridge]**

No destination's final, every mile's a new page,

Every street's a canvas, every town's a stage,

Steel in my spirit and a fire in my feet,

The road keeps calling and I follow its beat.

**[Final Verse]**

So raise up the colours, let the city walls speak,

Manchester to Leicester, seven days a week,

Birmingham beginnings, Sheffield made me strong,

Liverpool to everywhere, I'm moving along.

Techni Tou Dromou, remember the name,

The art of the road, that's the heart of the game,

No matter where I travel, no matter what I see,

Forward I go — I'm a busy bee.

**[Outro]**

Manchester made me,

Birmingham shaped me,

Sheffield steel tempered me,

The road awaits me.

Techni Tou Dromou…

The art of the road.

Forward I go.

Busy bee.

Hotchpotch Hippo Parade

 **Hotchpotch Hippo Parade**

Orange, blue and pink

dripping from the kitchen sink,

sticky stars and marmalade

spinning through the window shade.

Hotchpotch afternoons collide,

bicycle planets rolling by,

cardboard birds with lemon eyes

flutter through the tangerine sky.

There’s a hippo in the hallway

wearing glitter on his shoes,

humming tiny radio songs

in electric shades of blue.

He says the moon’s a peppermint button

floating in a bowl of rain,

and all the clocks have melted backwards

down the copper weather vane.

Orange umbrellas growing feathers,

pink pianos made of foam,

blue mosquitoes playing banjos

on the roof above the home.

Hotchpotch people made of jelly

dance around the traffic light,

while the hippo paints the pavement

with a toothbrush in the night.

Candy clouds and paper oceans,

lazy elevators sigh,

telephones grow plastic flowers

every time somebody lies.

Orange cats with silver sideburns

sleep inside the laundromat,

pink balloons with blinking eyeballs

float above the welcome mat.

The hippo laughs in slow motion,

ripples wobbling through the room,

tiny planets in his teacup

orbit round a purple spoon.

Blue and orange, pink and silver,

everything begins to sway,

hotchpotch dreams inside a jukebox

buzzing softly till the day.

**Hotchpotch Hippo Parade**

Orange, blue and pink

spilling from the kitchen sink,

dripping through the radio wires

while the ceiling softly blinks.

There’s a hippo in the hallway

wearing marmalade cologne,

tap dancing on the tabletops

with a trumpet made of stone.

Hotchpotch afternoons are melting

through the tangerine TV,

all the clocks have started laughing

at the possibility.

The wallpaper grows seaweed curls,

the carpet breathes in tune,

tiny silver submarines

float around the moon.

Orange bicycles are orbiting

above the garden gate,

blue umbrellas full of jellybeans

arrived three hours late.

Pink flamingo telephones

ring inside the bath,

someone drew a motorway

across the cat’s moustache.

And the hippo keeps on grinning

through banana-coloured smoke,

blowing bubbles out the window

while the traffic signs all float.

Hotchpotch mornings in the sunlight,

hotchpotch evenings in the rain,

everybody swaps their shadows

on the backwards midnight train.

Orange, blue and pink

twisting through the lemonade sky,

paper planets spin like records

while the dragonflies drift by.

The hippo hums in stereo

beneath electric trees,

singing little rubber songs

to the marmalade breeze.

Hotchpotch dreams in cardboard castles,

hotchpotch stars in bowls of soup,

everything keeps folding softly

in a never-ending loop.