The digital glow of the clock in the hall
Announces a time that means nothing at all
On the doormat a spider crawls over the heap
of papers and letters a score or more deep
The air is cold but thick and damp
There's mould on top of the mug by the lamp
It no-longer matters that the carpet is worn 
The drip in the kitchen, the tangled lawn
Utility sideboard with spare this and that
Now spare for ever like the grey felt hat
It's the end of the world, in beige
No nuclear holocaust rage
No war, no famine. No drought, no flood
Nothing at all but a faint smell of blood
From the place where it happened alone in the dark
Now only an indent, a faded brown mark     
And the fifty-year bed is cold and still
On the plate on the table a blue and white pill
To help with the sleep, you understand
But the top of the hourglass has emptied of sand
So stand with me now and think of him still
Close your eyes and listen and hear what is gone
His world has ended. The invincible con
Just stopped. . . .
And the digital glow of clock in the hall
announces a time that means nothing at all.