Millennium City 2000

The century has died like some aged love-starved whore, Spread-eagled and oblivious, a burned-out paramour, And passing with one ultimately orgiastic moan, Screamed suddenly to silence, disappearing all alone. Next day upon the dawning of the century to come, The skies pissed on the pavements, raining ad-infinitum, In the garbage of waste paper, cans and fading party hats Seethes the celebratory wreckage of a zillion graveyard rats. And the day crept on the city, limping bleak and grey and cold, Disappointment hung hangovers on the streets not paved with gold; Expectations of a miracle ripped up and blown to shreds, Only disillusioned, dehydrated, empty aching heads. In the malls and concrete arteries the winter spectres prowl, Stray dogs with fractured ribcages raise up their jaws and howl Some lament for what has died a death, a sob of loss and shame, In realisation choked in finding everything the same. Millennium City shuts its eyes, collapses back to bed, A year of wasted budgets, all accounts lost in the red; And the citizens, they fooled themselves with dreams that called collect, To find the world has stayed the same, so what did you expect?