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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
About life in Melbourne's west and the failure of laissez faire fascism.

Submitted: January 18, 2011

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Submitted: January 18, 2011



The end of life comes oft in ‘Scray
To street folk living out of doors,
To unemployed and pensioners
To invalids, and all the poor.

The end of life if oft relief
To those whose final hope has flown,
And in the place of hope there is
An agony of life that’s grown.

The end of life comes far too soon
For people who are out of luck;
Street folk in the dead of winter
Those whose life has come unstuck.

The end of life is ‘pproaching fast
For those with nowhere warm to hide,
The street folk living rough in ‘Scray
Whose only dream is to live inside.

The end of life is bless’d relief
For those who have no urge to live,
Those from whom life only takes
And never finds the time to give.

The end of life comes way too soon
For people in the west of town,
Where no-one ever moves into
Instead we say we’re moving down.

The end of life may be relief
For people living in
Melbourne’s West,
For after life’s endless struggles
Death seems like a welcome rest.

© Copyright 2011
Philip Roberts

© Copyright 2017 Philip Roberts. All rights reserved.

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