get clean

Walk down the road

With your hair like a crow’s nest

Ragged kneed trousers

Boots creaking in protest

A fraction corrupted

Can anything truly be trusted?

Left living in squalor

No one else seems that bothered

Gathering dust

Accumulate clutter

Rubbish is rubbish

So they keep telling us

It’s an issue of quality

Some things fall apart far too easily

A life time of uselessness

Spanning well beyond lunch breaks

Only guess at the merits

Of a life simply Spartan

With sterile white walls

And a lack of soft furnishings

Need a small smear of grime

A comfortable spot in which to contemplate

Next to Godliness

Met anyone who has faith in that?

Moral decay isn’t the problem

Raising a stench that touches high heaven

A hygiene issue as your friends will be telling you