Good As Gold

Down the market where the meat-hooks gleam, When the dawn breaks with a silent scream, And it’s time to guide your face to home. Another night has ended; There’s a photograph on someone’s wall That reminds them who you are and all, When the future froze with grim aplomb And saw your dreams suspended. From the window of the Laundromat You smoke your fags and smell a rat The colours spin round in the drum The clothing seems entitled; With sighing lips and bleeding eyes You curse into the slate grey skies Emotions in you turning numb The feelings are recycled. From a cloudburst by a dying tree The rain falls down half-heartedly Another day has nearly passed With nothing good arising; The oil drums burn out in the street Frost bitten hands, frost bitten feet, Another day just like the last, Why isn’t that surprising?