| They’ll always find a place for you in the sidewalk cafes
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| No one ventures into the streets these days
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| Except strangers and those like me, looking for work
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| I noticed the smell when I got off the bus
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| And traced it down to a canal that ran
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| Right through the heart of the city
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| Like an open vein full of black rotten blood
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| A mirror surface broken only by the bubbles of gas
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| Escaping from the stagnating mess that lay on the bottom
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| Fuelled by the chemicals and effluent of the city
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| Which was fed, in turn, by the barges and the ships
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| That followed that line and created the waves across that
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| Surface to the dockside where they unloaded their holds
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| The swarms of people clambering over them
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| I sat down in a cafe and I was holding my own
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| And minding my own business
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| And a voice spoke in my ears as if it recognized
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| That I was questioning the source of the smell
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| Have another beer boy, take it with a pinch of snuff
|
| And my eyes were bedazzled, by the jewels in his silken cuff
|
| And a voice rolled out from an ashen cloud from behind a long cigar
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| Son, you’ll never need to smell the black canal
|
| It was as if he’d read my mind, as if he expected it
|
| And, as the afternoon was wasted, I became aware
|
| I was becoming wrapped up in his world
|
| I became aware of the smell from the bouquet in his buttonhole
|
| It was taking me away from the canal
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| And away from my questions
|
| I was aware that the perfumes were all around us
|
| And he sold me the city, well at least he tried to with all his stories
|
| All the silks out of China
|
| And all the satins out of Spain
|
| All the powders for your noses
|
| Will keep the stench at bay
|
| Have another beer boy, take it with a pinch of snuff
|
| Your eyes will be bedazzled, by the jewels in my scented cuff
|
| And a voice rolled out from an ashen cloud from behind a long cigar
|
| Son, you’ll never need to smell this black canal
|
| And my world was spinnin', my head was awash
|
| With this promises and his beer
|
| And I looked up as he reached down
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| And snorted the flower in his buttonhole
|
| He smiled and his eyes lied
|
| I was staring at a suit with no soul
|
| No matter how you wash them
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| How you scrub and bleach and boil
|
| You’ll never get rid of the smell of the black canal
|
| Of the black canal
|
| Black canal
|
| The black canal
|
| The black canal
|
| The black canal
|
| (Derek Dick/Foss Paterson) |