Thuja Green Giant
If I shove up the sash of my loft window tonight, for the last time, and I risk my neck with the fraying sashcord, for the last time, by poking my head out, for the last time, to cock, for the last time, an ear to the nocturnal hum of Cricklewood, shall I hear, above that hum, the cheery song of a Cockney ghost?
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