'DOWN SOUTH'
So you say you’re going to run away,
to escape this industrial decay.
But where are you going to run to?
Is the south that attractive to you?
With unemployment and nowhere to live.
You say there’s nothing for you at home.
So you got on your bike to venture alone.
To the bright lights and dirty streets,
struggling to find somewhere to live.
It’s not all what it seems on the TV screens.
You wander all over the town,
just longing to safely lay your head down.
But without a place to live, how can you get a job?
It’s a vicious circle, in a lonely city called London.
Crouched alone in a dingy corner to hide away,
from theatre-goers pushing past, and hunters targeting their prey.
Being eyed-up by abusers, avoided by the rest.
Scared of falling asleep, for fear of what comes next.
Waking up so tired, on a cold, rain-soaked street.
Commuters swarming in all directions, your eyes never meet.
Overlooked, stepped around, jostled about, and routinely shunned.
Another ignored face, in a ruthless city called London.
After weeks of desperation about where to turn to next,
you're offered some food, a bath, and a warm place to rest your head.
But after the drugs started free, the stolen sex became the fee.
Abused again, on the exploiting streets of London.
After a year, without contact from anyone at home,
your parents are desperately searching the streets, tirelessly on their own.
Amongst the untreated mentally ill, the lonely, and depressed.
The thugs, the addicted, the damaged, and forgotten dispossessed.
As your parents soon discover, so many lives just disappear.
Ghosts increasingly haunt the shadows, as victims to racketeers.
So when life may seem better, on the other side of the street,
take a good look at what you’ve got, and be careful who you meet.
But in your single, damp room, of a backstreet City slum,
one after another, the abusers they still come.
A hefty fee for a roof, and drugs that make sure you're kept subdued.
That's often the price to be paid, if only you knew.
So you say you’re going to go down south.
That’s up to you, but think what it’s about.
It’s not what it seems to be, there’s homelessness and poverty,
and the streets there aren’t really paved with gold.
Copyright: Gordon Warren (1988/2014)
So you say you’re going to run away,
to escape this industrial decay.
But where are you going to run to?
Is the south that attractive to you?
With unemployment and nowhere to live.
You say there’s nothing for you at home.
So you got on your bike to venture alone.
To the bright lights and dirty streets,
struggling to find somewhere to live.
It’s not all what it seems on the TV screens.
You wander all over the town,
just longing to safely lay your head down.
But without a place to live, how can you get a job?
It’s a vicious circle, in a lonely city called London.
Crouched alone in a dingy corner to hide away,
from theatre-goers pushing past, and hunters targeting their prey.
Being eyed-up by abusers, avoided by the rest.
Scared of falling asleep, for fear of what comes next.
Waking up so tired, on a cold, rain-soaked street.
Commuters swarming in all directions, your eyes never meet.
Overlooked, stepped around, jostled about, and routinely shunned.
Another ignored face, in a ruthless city called London.
After weeks of desperation about where to turn to next,
you're offered some food, a bath, and a warm place to rest your head.
But after the drugs started free, the stolen sex became the fee.
Abused again, on the exploiting streets of London.
After a year, without contact from anyone at home,
your parents are desperately searching the streets, tirelessly on their own.
Amongst the untreated mentally ill, the lonely, and depressed.
The thugs, the addicted, the damaged, and forgotten dispossessed.
As your parents soon discover, so many lives just disappear.
Ghosts increasingly haunt the shadows, as victims to racketeers.
So when life may seem better, on the other side of the street,
take a good look at what you’ve got, and be careful who you meet.
But in your single, damp room, of a backstreet City slum,
one after another, the abusers they still come.
A hefty fee for a roof, and drugs that make sure you're kept subdued.
That's often the price to be paid, if only you knew.
So you say you’re going to go down south.
That’s up to you, but think what it’s about.
It’s not what it seems to be, there’s homelessness and poverty,
and the streets there aren’t really paved with gold.
Copyright: Gordon Warren (1988/2014)