| Row upon row
|
| Of drab colourless houses
|
| Bowing low
|
| Before high rise blocks
|
| Varicosed housewives
|
| With sweaty armpits
|
| Scrimping and scrubbing
|
| Their husbands' socks
|
| A limp polluted flag
|
| Flutters sadly in its death throes
|
| While crippled trees in leg irons
|
| Wearily haul themselves
|
| Through another diluted acid day.
|
| The vultures stood outside the gate
|
| Quite unaware that fate
|
| Is unaware to those who wait
|
| In vain. |
| Their pride
|
| Betrays the means of their destruction.
|
| Take my rings and trinkets bright
|
| But leave my eyes which give me light
|
| My tongue which gives me leave to speak
|
| The rest is yours and welcome.
|
| The wolves will suck the bones they bought
|
| Those over which they fought
|
| Their elders always having taught
|
| Them envy. |
| Their greed
|
| Explains their total lack of conscience.
|
| The auctioneer is seldom lost
|
| Our paths have sometimes crossed
|
| But he has never failed to count the cost
|
| Of passion. |
| Desire
|
| Is the whole point of his existence.
|
| Now you have given cause to bleed
|
| You join the wolf pack as you feed
|
| But now you find yourself in need
|
| Of comfort. |
| But peace of mind
|
| Has no home for the loveless. |