Dangerous Utopia
The walls drew you in,
The walls and the buildings,
The closes and the wynds,
The wet sets shining,
Greasy in the moonlight,
The secrecy of the steep vennels,
Where eyes avoided eyes,
Hands fumbled,
And knees trembled,
Where you left alone,
To walk miles home,
After stepping on cracked syringes,
And kicking Irn Bru bongs along the gutter.
Oh, didn’t you take it all in,
And sink like a stone,
Oh, didn’t you believe in it all,
The sweet repugnant dream,
Of a dangerous utopia.
It was cleaner then.
Even with its dirty secrets,
And the black, reek encrusted buildings,
It was still cleaner.
And more honest.
Even with the shame and the lies,
It was more honest.
The long walks back through beery mist,
Were part of the experience,
Banished boy living in exile,
Outside of the ancient walls,
And their protection,
The walls that drew you back,
Every single time,
To their secret excitement,
And underhanded promises.
To the place that hypnotised you,
Where you strained to look up,
Because everything good was high,
Out of reach, in the golden light,
While you waited impatiently below,
Pacing the murky streets,
And making friends in the shadows.
