Street Life

A box made of cardboard with nothing inside Came from a shop where white-goods are supplied The high street still busy but less than before When I used to manage the furniture store The shoppers are rushing to spend lots of cash They're choosing gifts hoping their choices aren’t rash The street lamps are lighting as dusk rears its head And queues in the take-outs await to be fed Folk rushing now to be home with their kin Where cosy and warm they will lock themselves in The pub opens up for its late clientele I’d go there each evening and lunchtime as well Crowds thinning out as the cold starts to bite And my box made of cardboard is home for the night