The sun rises on the Ville
The heart collapses
Children never believing they will be anything but children
Never allowed
Face painted clowns in dressing gowns
The Transit vans chuck diesel smoke
And the clowns choke
Is the sun only here?
It looks like it’s just for us
And the ground beneath our feet
It feels like it’s just for them
Carrier bags heading to food banks
Scratch cards, twenty Lambert and Butler,
four tins of Fosters thanks
The smell of weed knocking you back,
the smell of turpentine making your heartbeat
Drag your feet along the mardy street
Throw stones at the Chippy window
Chuck grit at the lonely widow
Gather round people under the sun glow
Land of electric cards
House of the rising bills
World of plenty
Not under this sun
But ay-up there’s a light on the horizon
It sends its good wishes in beams
Reflects off bottles of Becks, forms rainbows on oily streams
Makes the weeds around lampposts turn to bonsai trees
Chelping bewers singing on the curb stage
He didn’t, dirty bastard, he did
Enter young boy, mam get me dad some money out the machine
No, he’ll spend it on cover and peeve
The sun sets on the Ville
Moon gate crashed the sky
And stars hide behind the streetlight