The Tower of the Old Folk
Living in my bedsit in the tower of the old folk
Watching television, I heard somebody speak
A robot does my cleaning and it does not even smoke
I think I am invisible, I wear a dust grey cloak
Maybe I’m a loser; my bones already creak
Living in my bedsit in the tower of the old folk
Noone here can touch me, now maybe they will joke
But my heart is feeling empty and I know I am a freak
A robot does my cleaning and it does not even smoke
The council can’t afford replacements for any mugs I broke
I see a few young people drinking coffee in the street
Weeping in my bedsit in the tower of the old folk
If I tried to drown myself no doubt I would just float
When I go to a farm shop, the sheep won’t stop to bleat
A robot does my cleaning and it does not even smoke
I am serving my life sentence, but it seems incomplete
I can only walk ten yards, arthritis in my feet
Living in my bedsit in the tower of the old folk
A robot did my cleaning, the dumb thing never spoke
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Copyright © Katherine Braithwaite | Year Posted 2019
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