A street, ruined by Council workers Never to be repaired. A church, the dominion and focal point Where only Satanists laid claim. Two shops, one sold rancid The other, overpriced.
Five hundred people, bored and doomed Loyalists, who took pride in their version Of Pandemonium, of Lucifer's funhouse Of this cesspool of glorified Rubble, this wasteland Where only those who had given up, Or that knew they would die Slowly and agonisingly should, or could survive.
One castle, where brave Normans Would frown and disown such a place, And leave, rather than stay in such a disgrace.
To this place and it's inmate's I say "you are nothing if not ordinary".