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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
Written by: David McWilliams
