Roving past Backwater

Firing bricks, uncovered by neglect
Through Autumn leaves fall
Petroleum smog grabbing
Daily Turmoil and crowded loathing

A Nation, so pale it shone in the night
A dead empire of gypsies disguised as kings; in decay
A silent, subdued loneliness

23, a wasteful number
Rely upon misplaced benign Baltic cold, with enemies here
Concealed thieves all around
Physical wasting, sewerage taint
Ignorance and bliss if your pathetic crumbled past

Is this your dream
Or the paralysed nightmare of cruel fanged arachnoid terror
I laugh, you laugh crash down all.

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