Author: Guy M.

The Myopic old optician couldn’t see how he would fail
The baker stayed too long and ended moulderin’ and stale
The vets been put to sleep, it’s sad, they’re empty for a year.
The barbers’ blades are blunted now but we’re stilàl here.
We’re still here.
We watched the florist wilt and wane and wither into dust
The bank was in the red, lost all its savin’s and went bust
At the bookies all the bets are off, the winner is unclear
And the pharmacy has overdosed but we’re still here,
We’re still here.

The street ran out of charity so Oxfam’s doors are closed
The surgery was euthanised as soon as diagnosed
The letting agents lost their lease their rent was in arrears
And the jewellers’ lost its sparkles now but we’re still here.
We’re still here.
They used to sell cool trainers but their custom ran away
The travel agent’s taken an extended holiday
Even the old Job Centre now seeks a new career
The greengrocer decayed and spoiled but we’re still here.
We’re still here.
The tea-rooms fortune floundered once it gave us diahorrea
And the chain store’s polished off the independent pizzeria
The home designer’s showroom died behind that cracked veneer
The bookshop’s long been out of print but we’re still here.
We’re still here.
The undertakers passed away, their ghosts still haunt the street
The butcher decomposed like all his putrid rottern meet
The chippy fried, the laundrette dried, the boozer’s sunk its beer
The electrician’s blown a fuse, but we’re still here.
We’re still here.
(We’re still here)