[JustAmy]

Walking through a smokey street
Rent payers he had to meet
This working man
In a lower class town
Where mills and factories were closing down.

But as he stood and watched life be
He captured it for all to see
This working man
Who knew quite well
That life was never saved by a bell.

And whose life is it anyway
Painted beneath the skies of grey
A working man?
A very lonely man, he said
Looking at his mother's empty bed.

A moment around him seen
A life, a mill, perhaps a childhood dream?
But now the working man has gone
A mind that remained untamed
A still life that remains unframed.

By
Richard Fair

[JustAmy]

[Darksheare]

Thanks.

[larryjohnson]

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