In the Dark  - by Preacher John - 11/2/00

The cloud has gone, rudely ripped away
Like the hair of a bald man
The cherry of a slut
Or the malevolent grace of a geriatric cat
Gone as tho' it never was

And the cold is like a slap, hard down from the dark
Cracking the ground and chewing into flesh suddenly naked under coats
and jumpers and skirts

The breath of heat-vents rises, frozen from tower blocks
And the folks inside do not know
Cheerful little houses sealed tight behind glass and uPVC
And the folk inside do not know
But in the derelict buildings and the shacks and the squats -
drunks and smackheads, the mad and the lost
and the simply despairing huddle away from the creeping cold
And they know

Give us an axe and give us matches
Copies of the phone book and old egg boxes
Off-cuts from skips and broken fences
Busted skirting and kitchen units
Give us this and the fire will keep us
We of the dark - in the dark you'll find us
Warmed by yesterday's newspaper words
And the Sun burns better than anything
You can keep your broadsheets and local circulars
Your glossy magazines and sunday supplements
When the fire needs lighting
The words of short-sighted right wingers and middle-aged lechers burn better than anything
The Sun burns better than anything
The Sun burns better than anything

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