Row upon row Of drab colourless houses Bowing low Before high rise blocks Varicosed housewives With sweaty armpits Scrimping and scrubbing Their husbands' socks A limp polluted flag Flutters sadly in its d**h throes While crippled trees in leg irons Wearily haul themselves Through another diluted acid day. The Auction (Cousins/Lambert) The vultures stood outside the gate Quite unaware that fate Is never kind to those who wait In vain. Their pride Betrays the means of their destruction. Take my rings and trinkets bright But leave my eyes which give me light My tongue which gives me leave to speak The rest is yours and welcome. The wolves will s** the bones they bought Those over which they fought Their elders always having taught Them envy. Their greed Explains their total lack of conscience. The auctioneer is seldom lost Our paths have sometimes crossed But he has never failed to count the cost Of pa**ion. Desire Is the whole point of his existence. Now you have given cause to bleed You join the wolf pack as you feed But now you find yourself in need Of comfort. But peace of mind Has no home for the loveless.