Foot steps on the street

All the chrome horses had run around
Their courses
And are now leap frogging
Over the hedge
And the drivers are waiting in the
Queues anticipating
What sentences will fall
From my head
They are blocked up
Like a Mental Brexit
There is no road map to my
Soul
And I am lost in this city
Where the girls are so pretty
I have fever that is hard to control

If I've said it once
I've said it a thousand times
She will not call
She is wasting my time
I'm backed up against and iron clad wall
And the rust is peeling off
Blood red

The sentences fall,
with no trouble at all
I have to stoop down to pick them
Off the floor

And the park lingers on
In its cold tree song
For the old men
Who wander unfed

Unfed, unfed
They are going to bed
On the benches, in the
Galleries of bushes
Under the hedges
Where the birdies
Befriend them
With reveries of lives
Long dead

Long dead, long dead
Inside their heads
With reveries of lives long dead

Peeling back the tarmac
Taking up the cobbles
Digging beneath the street
Where the old beggar hobbles
Where the old beggar hobbles

And underneath the sooty street
The earthen sand stare
Are the graves of those long gone
Those bone people who lived before

Before, before
Those who lived before
Those are the roads that they tread
But are they the same
As we walk in vain
Are all our footsteps
destined instead?
Are all our footsteps predestined
instead?

Horses trot
And graves they rot
Horse hooves just clip-clop
Their certain air
Of a midnight lair
Where the past walks down the street.