In a stirring river, Garrotted by mud and each rusted carcass dumped over the slow years - The dredgers cut down And saw the metal of a woman, A frothy corruption, naked, open. They prized her from the mire and saw the city through the eyes of the sewer.
The Lady from the Thames. Her skin broke when she flopped on board. -
Caved in by the tumbling sky and the air, dry like leather, Caught in his throat. The Kilburn high-rise walls peeled like fingers and the cogs clicked to fast to bite back. He turned to the sepia city like new life And looked for her.
River of time elapsed churning up memory Each gallon lurches grit and rot. trolley and corpse shudder Forward, backward. Teasing in smashed bottle
She was young once. Looked just like her mum. 'What a muddy little angel you are, What a muddy little angel you are.' Til the glitz, the cracking lips bet on kindness. 'I remember being a girl - I waited for my mother every morning - She was smiling and never sad.'
The sunken root scratches for life Underneath vast, forgotten hangers. The widow maker sheds her bark and keep pace with the smog. Sees what we all don't know. Lives where we all can't see. In a squealing Kings cross they met, He led her to a room with broken windows and one swinging bulb, She wasn't scared.
Dank Amazon. The roots intertwine with wires sprawling grip for sulking glass tress. 'I'm a cruel joke don't you see?' As her eyes slowly rolled 'I'm sorry' As her fist unclenched 'It sorry' As her knees went limp 'I'm sorry'.
Belted up, un-silent night Screeching myre, gridlocked light, He left her in the silt And to the sound of screaming vans, Runs rabbit down the hole The hiss 187, 187 from the radio. Alive in neon puddles that shatter Under his pounding feet. -
It was her who the dredgers found and As looked to her form and As they looked to her cuts They thought that She was the river. Just another smashed bottle, Un-watered.