About change
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By lenchenelf
Fri, 21 Aug 2009
- 1436 reads
2 comments
Soot blackened backstreets,
dry-cured tales of Quarry Hill,
hope nipped through a bookies
door to chip-shop reality.
Up there, on the rise, stark reminder,
Mortality; the tower of Saint Marks'
looked down on us all.
Victorian values, embedded in mentalities,
coated with stale grease on blue overalls,
work's grime.
School bells rang for young engineers;
factories, an arid speck of memory,
dust, in thirty years time.
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edit 02.08.12
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Comments
I'm not sure where this is,
I'm not sure where this is, but blackend mortality and dust... oh dear, a bit grim up North.
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