In a place
Full of sailors
Barmaids and waiters
Silence and sorrow
In the books
That I borrow
Witten by poets
In poverty and pain.
Life without sparkle
Smoke rings keep rising
From the queues by
The soup kitchen door
Old faces and embraces
Worn shoes no laces
Pavements littered
A pitiless stare.
Dark streets they grimace
To the sound that mimics
The passing of time
In decline
The closing time bell
In lifes living Hell
Closes its eyes
One more time.