The vintage shops are closing,
The sweepers are cleaning the streets.
Our modern minds are locked in change,
As poetry suffers to defeat.

Oh, the Christmas bells are chiming,
To greet the start of June.
They’re calling, calling, that love’s tokens
Can never be bought too soon.

And, the infant yell of binge drinkers
Sounds over their bosses’ tones.
They’re drink-driving to the liquor store,
And weaving through traffic cones.

Now the engineers are catcalling
In their neon-breasted suits,
Hard hats to hide their flaccid love;
Oh, purple-hearted brutes!

This hometown is full of characters
In the brief demise of day,
And all I can think in this lonesome state is:
Darling, please don’t go away.

This photograph of childhood
Stains my eyes with smiles.
Such a full and healthy appetite,
Now gone over so many miles.

Still, I search on for a reason
To live within this hive.
I’ll give my all to find this sanity;
I’ll give everything just to survive.