I live on a street that is tatty and worn,

But it is the street on which I was born, 

It holds memories of people that I loved and I knew,

Their laughter was strong, but their possessions were few.

 

It’s one of those streets that people avoid with shudders and a frown,

But once it was the joy that lit up this fine town.

The Saturday night dance was the place you would choose,

To spend your weeks wages on fags and some booze.

 

There were shops overflowing with colour and choice,

And the pavements were milling and buzzing with noise,

Now the betting and charity shops are side by side,

And a shabby old pub where drunken bodies collide.

 

Now we are seeing vape shops galore,

And “barbers,” who no doubt are breaking the law,

But this is still the street on which I live, and I know,

And I’ll leave in a box, in a car that drives really slow.