The empty green bottles rattle on cobbles
when cold winds blow down the empty streets.
A pile of rags moves and a human hobbles
to upright, then sways as he finds his feet.
An old soldier forgotten, displaced, living under
a crumbling bridge marked for toxic disposal.
A train passes over sounding like thunder,
as the homeless are given another proposal,
to sweep them from sight and bury them under
red tape and rules from corrupt politicians.
MPs who don’t care, as daily they blunder
trying to destroy a nations ambition.
London the city, the home of the banker,
the star struck, the ‘A ‘ list, all life is on stage.
If you don’t make it, it’s like a slow cancer
that eats you within, and fills you with rage.
London - the city that says, ‘you’re arrived!’
You must be successful, if not you’re dismissed.
You’ll feel so unwanted, unheard of, deprived.
But you really don’t care as you go and get pissed.
No money, no address, a ‘dear’ friends’ old sofa
No job and no home as you slip down the ladder.
In London your friends said ‘Here you can go far!’
Their lying now makes you madder and madder
At least you can say you tried living in London
The place you desired, along with the money.
Now you are broken you feel very humble
In London it isn’t all gold, milk and honey.
But you, you can leave and go back to your home now.
For London called and the homeless did try.
But you in the Jag with the money to say ciao!
can live while old soldiers struggle and die.