Looking through the window,
What do I see?
What name, what type,
And of what category?

Maybe of musical intruments,
Three of hearts is shown,
Quickly I say 'trumpet,'
But then, away my safe deck's blown.

We find all the cards,
Try blackjack this time around,
All four twos are played,
Having to draw eight, Steve's looking down.

All a'sudden the wind picks up,
Blows the cards all around,
Though we recover most again,
Two sevens are never found.
 
Finally we give up,
We know we have to yield,
As the wind can't be stopped,
And we can't make a windshield

It, to us, became so unbelievably  clear,
Card-playing, outside in Manchester's a bad idea.