6
Almost there
Pushing through the folds of flesh
Cloth billowing on washing lines
Brick terraces stone doorsteps
Sunset glory skyline chimneys
Birdsong in walled alleys
The hope for morality
Fear of the bomb
Fear of Thatcher
Hold the line
Hold tillers
Make your riches
Share them or society stops
Stand in solidarity
The past's haunting ghosts wail
Future comes through the door
Sits at the table on thrones
High time for reason.