The Old Town

Fear and pain fall into past
tables turned to iron cast
something's wrong in minds today
what it is I cannot say

spirits calling swurling fast
bows may break and crush the mast
seeing sunlight spill through cracks
gives hope and warmth for us old hacks

cutting knives through waves of steel
hammer action bolt and pin
chocking smoking blackened wheels
structures made by men with kin

hardened toughned from the grime
knuckles bare and cuts all brused
hammer hammer beat the steel
labour for the bread, the meal

days are short and nights are long
winter cold but furnace warm
pour into the next hard batch
night shift over out they swarm

dawn is rising on the hill
golden shine cuts through the sky
chimneys smoking out the spill
birds cross over but to spy

blast of horn is heard out loud
workers start the day shift now
heavy steel is crushed and made
ships are build with port and bow

faces blackened with the muck
work clothes torn and oil traced
time is short and out of luck
orders drop and even paced

dwindle now the work is done
no more ships are made here now
memories are that all there is
of a town I take a bow