Wispy hair blown by ashy wind,
Striding past closure after closure,
Escaping from this cul-de-sac;
The shale mountains and rusting machinery.
Distancing yourself from the oxides,
And the silicon dioxide of the slag heap.
The working man’s club with their bitter ale,
The long empty tenements dilapidating daily,
Now nothing, but a smoggy afterthought.