It can all be found down on Strutton Ground, or on Victoria Street,where the Angels meet up once a week to seek out worthy causes,
in between and between the pauses of the traffic that rushes past,eyes are cast among the cats eyes that sprawl on roads so lazily and look to see the racing of humanity.

Fleeting are the fleet of foot that shut away ,what, but only if they knew are people just like me and you.
And tanks tread leaden legs and heads no longer full,pull doleful souls to where the Angels stand and lend a hand.

Victoria has many palaces but palisades they'll all become,importuning what light there was and opportunities are light because,
the work has dried up,******* in the red tape of black crepe soled shoes that use the halls of parliament and only to abuse the lost,the friendless and the night seems never endless for this section of society.