The mountain bears down, on the tiny tin town
Twinned with nowhere, turned out no one
No jobs anywhere, but nowhere to run.
Everyone knows you, but there’s nothing to know
Have a beer; suppress sorrows, maybe some blow.
Canal side ruckus, it’s them up against us.
Youth looking for meaning, eyes rolled to the ceiling.
Mam’s elbows up in old spuds,
That or scalding in hot suds.
Should’ve been more, but now there’s just chores.
Pint of Brains please, arthritis in the knees,
Hands dirty and raw, knuckles swollen and sore.
Sing in the choir? Seems things less dire,
But nothing will change; fair play, gas now, not range,
But still the same tin town, just going round and around.