WK (08 April 1973 / East London)

City Of Gold

Our city of wild cats and ribcage strays
Towering shells of neglected humanity
The darkness stinging smells of decay
Sirens sounding wildly scary about
The sugar man cometh he comes for sure
No place for us but for many a whore

Drizzly rain down cold grey shine so wet
Another scream unheard for all cowering
Nobody knows and nobody wants
Save them all the children of neglect
Our city of gold is shine less and cold
Cold so cold like gold without worth

Board rooms of white-walled cool air
Business suit junkies of money and cars
The flash of wallets blinding all love
Why now so cold why now so dark
Papers on street, streets of tarmac and paint
No hope for meaning or love’s hope so quaint

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