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London Town coming down
1
Above my lonely silence, a lone Airplane
purrs,
and then silence once more.
A little later a train passes through
Seven Kings station,
carrying its cargo of souls on their way to their
destiny...
It often sad the memories that linger when
you are all alone.
memories of a old mans house of belongings cleared
by wolves of enterprise,
greedy little bag and bone men who appear
once the hand of misfortune has struck.
A house of treasured memories,
a mans entire life bought for pennies
sold for pounds,
Even in ones death there’s profit.
And us in that junk yard like Vultures
to buy parts of an old mans life
‘parts of his soul’
Who wants his bowling trophies?
Who wants his books?
And who wants his George Cross he would have died for...
And here I am worrying because times are a little hard,
And how naive is the girl who moans over a
birthday card.
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