Kings Cross Angels

One early evening at King's Cross

Where even angels feel a sense of loss

I was making up for last night's flu

For I hath fed on honey-dew.

Never one to miss a trick, I

Turned quite slow and gave the eye,

If my soul was meant for sale

Then why a man so old and frail?

A high court judge? Or drunk MP?

Paying for head and secrecy.

But slowly pulling along the side

I knew it wasn't for a ride

And winding down his window said

"I've lost my bloody A-Z.

You couldn't help me out dear boy?"

For fifty quid I'll be your toy!

For food and rent and some for brown

I'll dress up like a fucking clown

But no, "Come from the country eh!

Got stuck in this god damn one way.

Frightful traffic should've caught the train

But public transport's such a pain."

Shivering in an alleyway,

Not knowing if its night or day

The winter hose-down in West End

Being robbed by a so called friend

Beaten up by the National Front

I'll show you pain you stupid cunt.

"Dinner you see and then a show,

Just not quite sure which way to go"

He shut up now in expectation

That I should ask his destination

That I should serve the likes of him

To the full extent of sordid whim

Born wholly into servitude

I find this land absurdly crude

Then for a while he looks at me

Then at the road and back again.

I wonder what he can see

Some tinker straight from Fagen's Den?

One of London's Lonely cherubs?

Or just a broadband labelled youth?

That's where irony really rubs.

If only now he saw the truth.

Hollow, yet bursting at the seems

With experience and hapless dreams,

Sold out, but violently free.

I doubt he saw these things in me.