Frail I am in this windswept and wave battered shack;
Forsooth this be thy home next to the pebbled track
Which runs alongside the barren lands of this bay.
Time sweeps past like the wind whispering with dismay,
Telling of the malignant humans, all but possessed,
I used to walk with those humans, all well dressed
And now set in the stones that line their graves.
I wish, oh I wish thy could have helped and saved
The fragile bodies that now lie skeletal along the sands
That used to ring with cries of joy like the musical bands
Playing so nearby in the bandstands of our city.
More a village twas but still such a song filled and pretty;
The same village now plagued with the deathly sights
Of darkened, dismal days and dank, musty nights
Truth be told I want to return to that heavenly place
But tis this shack that is my pen, my metal cell
Lying next to what is left of the place that fell.