Zone Red

"Leave the money on the pillow, close the door before you go,
it's freezing in this hell-hole and the meter's running low!

He asks how much he owes her, says, "Same time next week then?
as she stumbles to the bathroom, he fumbles for some change,

buttons up his jeans ' runs a comb through his hair,
leaves the money on her pillow, shuts the door and goes downstairs.

She finds coins to feed the meter he'd left her by the door -
can't remember anyone, who'd been that kind before,

takes a match - ignites the oven, then the ancient gas-fire,
it was just about alight and she tries to turn it higher

but the bloody thing was past it though ' she'd often complain
and the landlord said he'd get it fixed ' one of these days.

Pours herself a drink ' a whisky on the rocks,
puts the money from her client in a little metal box,

when she happens to notice, the guy has left his fags,
feels just a little guilty, but still savours every drag.

Plumping up her pillow ' she smoothes out the sheet,
puts on her night-dress and intends to brush her teeth,

but her head hits the pillow and she's out like a light '
dead to the world she is - by eleven that night.

Not fire, nor flood or tempest could wake her now she slept,
nor the wailing of a siren or a low-flying jet,

or the couple upstairs, fighting, nor their baby as it cried '
and the gas-fire spluttered as its blue flame died.

One week later, when he found her, he remembered what she'd said,
breaking down the door, her words echoed round his head,

"Leave the money on the pillow, close the door before you go,
it's freezing in this hell-hole and the meter's running low.