He hums tonight through his streets,
|
My unlatched window the tune repeats,
|
The kerb-crawling car winds down to a stop.
|
A few seconds mumble then whisks him off.
|
|
Sick and tired of abuse,
|
Controlled signs of hysteria,
|
But like when dawn arrives,
|
He remembers his leisure.
|
|
He runs tonight through his block,
|
A crack in the curtain is unlocked.
|
No meeting with a mother or greeting a friend
|
A sharp-looking boot-jack with some time to spend.
|
|
Sick and tired of abuse,
|
Controlled signs of hysteria,
|
But like when dawn arrives,
|
He remembers his leisure.
|
|
He cries tonight
|
Through his manner
|
I can see his conscience
|
Get the better
|
From a door-way stepped in
|
Shadowed leather
|
Exchanging handshakes for money
|
And pleasure.
|
|
He crawls tonight through his scum,
|
From my dirty window his body's numb.
|
Beneath the street-lamp tilts shoulders bent,
|
Then meets his pick-up who pays his rent.
|
|
Sick and tired of abuse,
|
Controlled signs of hysteria,
|
But like when dawn arrives,
|
He remembers his leisure.
|
His pleasure
|
|
-----------------
|
When Dawn Arrives
|
| Madness |
