Driving down deserted streets,
Liquor laced, wet with rain,
Wind blowing bereft and in vain.
Buildings look like battle ships
Sailing concrete seas.
Everything is made of stone,
There are never any trees,
Nothing natural about a town without a heart.
Big black bags hide clothes and rags
And books of forgotten prose
No one cares for those anymore;
The writers of classic literature
Years after death are dying.
Where once this place was heaven
Lights and finite evening life,
Music and wine, a gentleman's place,
Where women did not fret
To strut about in gowns.
Its edges now are rough,
Gutters just like bins.
It's a city scarred with urban tattoos,
That graffiti on the loos that the children often spray
When the adults go away,
But we are always there; I've seen it,
The blues and the greys,
I've seen it in the light when the moon wanes.
It is the kind of place you hate to enjoy
And hate yourself for enjoying.
Bars wail music
Like animals in the night
You don't have to spend money or regret,
Just stand outside with your cigarette,
A cheap drink in the other hand
Tapping out a beat with your heavy feet,
Looking at people
Pissing in the alley ways
Fighting their way through
Talking as though in tongues
They all seem like snakes to you.
Knowing this will never end,
Growing and growing you can't defend
Against these men and their repetition
Of Friday and Saturday
And everything they bring,
You can feel it growing
With fast food, drink and smoke
You can feel it in the bars, read it in the stars
Cancer they call it
But you don't much care
Because you know the truth
The same they gave to me,
I have street cancer but I'm free.