Out There in the Crumbling Day
The world was never ours
and getting less so all the time,
but we never much cared
for it anyway.
Leave us our little room,
some music and booze,
we’ll be okay.
The other losers out there in the crumbling day
are no longer our concern,
just leave us our little bit of scrapheap beauty,
our little makeshift world
and an eternity to fuck around inside of it.
It’s not much to ask,
we’re not hurting anyone.
Outside there’s fire and the endings of things
but we’re good as we turn the record over
and open another bottle,
laughing about something
you wouldn’t understand.
Horror Sleaze Trash 
A sharp, tender piece that captures a Beat-era defiance without nostalgia — world-weary, funny, and strangely intimate. The plainspoken lines give way to real beauty in that “scrapheap” tenderness, where isolation becomes a chosen sanctuary. It ends on a perfect note of shared laughter, small and human against the blaze outside.
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Strong SRO and Gilbey’s Vodka vibes, here.
Timeless…for some of us. 👍🏼
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