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MCWILLIAMS, David


Days of Pearly Spencer

A tenement, a dirty street

Walked and worn by shoeless feet

Inside it's long and so complete

Watched by a shivering sun

Old eyes in a small child's face

Watching as the shadows race

Through walls, and cracks and leave no trace

And daylight's brightness shuns


The days of Pearly Spencer

The race is almost run


Nose pressed hard on frosted glass

Gazing as the swollen mass

On concrete fields where grows no grass

Stumbles blindly on

Iron trees smother the air

But withering they stand and stare

Through eyes that neither know nor care

Where the grass is gone


The days of Pearly Spencer

The race is almost run


Pearly, where's your milk white skin?

What's that stubble on your chin?

It's buried in the rot-gut gin

You played and lost not won

You played a house that can't be beat

Now look, your head's bowed in defeat

You walked too far along the street

Where only rats can run