Holed Up.

Daren't step outside

So much is unknown

For an old bird like me.

Lonely 'tis most days.

Can't raise a conversation

On any of those

Good old issues.

All around traffic

Radio hosts

And screaming youngsters

Hopped up on mood pills

And violent www tales.

Too much bother

And commotion

And mindlessness.

Some say Progress.

Not I, no not I.

And the one old pal

Bruce is all buggered

Up in the head.

Pity.

So the pipe smokin'

Here is good

The warm shed

The memories

Aaagh.

Life has been good

Mostly.

Shorter days coming.