1. The Death Of An Industry
The Death of an Industry
The optics have all got cataracts,
their eyes are obsolete.
The stools may as well be fungi,
they're rooted at the feet.
The pumps have all been pumped,
their sparklers have lost the spark.
The lights have all been put out,
they're sitting in the dark.
Now the nuts are in padded cells
or on the shelves in Tesco.
The Alchy's have all retired
or drink in the park – Al Fresco.
The joy has all been laughed,
there's nothing more to say.
This poems getting daft,
as the landlords fade to grey.