The TV buzzes, midnight calls again,
spats of drizzle on the window pane.
Drifts of curtain closing out the night,
on fly specked windows, once so very bright.
Click the switch; close down the endless day;
in bedsit land it always ends that way.

A light bulb flickers on the dull grey wall,
tracks his lonely shadow, dark and tall.
Ignore the old and cracked enamel sink,
the greasy cups, mistmatched, blue and pink.
The sad remains of just another day,
in bedsit land it always ends that way.

Then hear the creak of lumpy single bed,
where grubby pillows hold a tired head.
To wish the lonely hours of night away,
dream of the girls who never seem to stay.
Long restless hours until the new sunrise,
when ribboned light unglues his weary eyes.
To face the sad remains of yesterday.
In bedsit land it always starts that way.