The Riviera Rocket Snow, deep and white fell sometime in the night, but I was alright snug in bed. Under the snow lies the world that I know, the dirty and grubby and yet it still snubs me.0 I don't want the snow to go. Under Waterloo Bridge, another shelf in the fridge, a cruel world for some where the Sun doesn't shine and it's cold all the time, designed to be beat dead on their feet, a bed on cement backs bent by the day lay the broken and cracked. A fact of society. Snow came as a blessing one more white dressing for the ulcerated trunks of incapable drunks. Do you see them? the jetsam, do they worry you? they will if you let them. I bet some of them had lives, children and wives, washed out in the flow now, thoughts covered in snow now, and it's cold outside.
