Sometimes i lie in bed and feel the room
shake and rattle as a train goes by.
A train that sounds like a DC ten
with three hundred lucky souls onboard.
After it passes i listen to the arguments
coming from the higher floors.
They make a heck of a noise to,
the tension is thick.
The rooms are all the same
full of moistness wetness and mould.
Sorrow and despair seem to be
the very bywords that open all the doors.
That and the Police.
I wish i could move.
When you are raised in the
shadow of poverty,
you must be prepared
to die in its shadow.
Then again they do say
never expect anything as your right.
You have to earn everything in life,