A hundred ***** dusty bleary-eyed windows open
As a deadly-dull town awakens
Unready and unwilling to take on another new day.
Each indolent inhabitant wishing away each minute, hour and day
Banishing any boy or girl who talks of "getting away".
Yes, a sad sullen town of little ambition,
Happy in its unhappiness,
Disembarks on another week
Allowing the woeful wintry weather to dictate its motivation
Glory be then, the rain that seems to fall perpetually
On the unglistening slate-grey slated roofs
That keep out the rain
But not the season's strong sickly grip.
To end at the ending?
Yes, let's,
This town is life's last stop
The end of a long long line
A lovely place to relax and whine.