An educated man once said:
When you are tired of London, you are tired of life,
Yet to survive in this city there is much to sacrifice.
I sit here opposite an industrial creation,
HMS Belfast, a grey symbol for our nation.
A retired king sits on the icy Thames,
As it’s cold waters take their snake like bends.
Does he sit and think? Or does he surrender?
To be a tired lifeless city member.
What does he think of our selfish like ways?
Where we try to escape the capalistic maze.
His cannons are rested west, pointed to his queen,
Although our royal mistress is no where to be seen.
I look at this floating king and foresee my own fate,
I’m tired of my city, but here I must wait.