The Days of Pearly Spencer

A tenement, a dirty street

Walked by shoeless feet

Inside it's long, so complete

Watched by a shivering sun

Old eyes in a small child's face

Watching as the shadows race

Through walls and cracks that leave no trace

Daylight's brightest shuns

The days of Pearly Spencer

The race is almost run

Nose pressed on frosted glass

Gazing at the swollen mass

Concrete fields grow no grass

Fumbles blindly on

Iron trees smother the air

Withering, they stand and stare

Through eyes that neither know nor care

Where the grass is gone

The days of Pearly Spencer

The race is almost run

Pearly, where's your milk-white skin?

What's that stubble on your chin?

It's buried in the rot-gut gin

You've played your last card, won

You've played the house that can't be beat

Looked your head bowed in defeat

You walked along the street

Where only rats can run

The days of Pearly Spencer

The race is almost run