Low Street

Vaulted ceilings on Low Street 

There's the screams and cheers

of ghosts And we're in the rocking

chair, as we hear our chorus 

They were only drinking, only 

laughing - still they set the bar

too damn high We couldn't 

dance the beat, fill the world

With our own tunes

Opulence imagined, dim

diamonds that don't shine

as they did when the chosen

wore them 

Fleeting penguins donning

their tuxedos, in the morose

light that lingers here It's 

searching for the former 

Occupants

And how it wants their lives

Dorothy's Red Shoes or maybe 

Fred Astaire's cane 

Play out the piano 

as the carpets call out 

Choking on dust

Poets do reside here

but they missed the party

perfectly normal 

to sit in the stifling heat

The fire of an age gone by

Vaulted ceilings on Low Street

The House of God, and the literati 

too Bourgeois folks of wisdom

that did depart from here