New Year's Green Lane
(1975-76)

Keep to the centre in New Year's Green Lane.

Don't veer to the side,

Or you'II step in the slush made by the rain.

The pot-holes there are up to your knees

With mud and stagnant water.

Watch out where the tin cans grow on trees,

And where the broken toys migrate.

Take care. Mind the rusty lorry,

Dumping its rubbish by the rickety gate.

Keep your eyes down in New Year's Green Lane.

A disembowelled mattress

Lies in the filth, brutally slain.

Don't look at the corpses that aren't laid to rest.

A rusty pile of vehicles,

Gaunt and twisted. No flowers by request.

Can you see the grass beneath the rotting rubbish?

Can you see a flower?

Under such muck all beauty will perish.

Don't sniff the air in New Year's Green Lane.

There's the smell of decay.

And the great sewer rats run down by the drain.

The mouldering carcass of a long-dead sheep

Pollutes the fetid air

Where the mangy, flea-ridden farm dogs creep.

No hum of bees on summer's day,

Just the buzzing of flies

On the council tip, that bids you keep away.

Please give a thought for New Year's Green Lane.

Will it ever return

To its simple rural beauty again?

Why do people live in the derelict farms,

Surrounded by refuse?

Do they prefer filth to countryside charms?

Old pram handles and rags, a tin can, a dress,

Broken bottles and bedsteads.

Is there no one about who will clear up the mess?