On the fire lit night
when it's cold and you're tired
and you just want to sit down
and partake of some tea,
but the coal bunkers empty,
the miners are striking, so
you sit with your socks on your ears
to keep out the chill and the bills
keep on coming,
electric and gas and the tally man makes
one more pass to look through the letterbox,
you pretend you're not home.

On the fire lit night,
I have spoken to sailors who
have come into port,
downed a few dark rums and
caught up with the news.

When you have it
you don't want it
on the fire lit nights
I want it all.

On the waste ground the tricksters are
out tipping their refuse,
there are no bills for them,
the tricktipping men,
just the rot
what a sight,
wish I could watch
from a fire lit night.