The Placebo Effect

Up my dosage, would ya?
nothing’s right around here…

This town is dead. You can feel it
in the water, see it in the vacuous stares
of the empty-eyes dole-junkies
that wander its Saturday streets,
croaking “Maaan, the scene is dead”
and selling fake Rolex watches for
extortionate prices.

This town is dead. It’s on the news,
Trevor McDonald with a Northern accent
telling us what we already know
and how Peter Harris at number sixty-two
got sent down last week.
Six months to a year.
We’re all in jail.

This town is dead. British Rail
don’t come here any more, and
anyway the first train out of town
isn’t due ‘til adulthood. Next
stop: depression; Valium in a
plastic tub, two with water,
then your recommended eight hours, keep
you healthy nine to five.

This town is dead. It’s in my bones,
in my face, in my voice. Contagious
in its mortality.

Fucking fatal disease, this town.