Weeds grow tall now ,
where once , men walked .
The sad shapes of deriliction
rust in isolation ,
and everything that ever was
is reduced by oxidation .

This shipyard is now long dead .
The echo of memories
bleaching in the sun .
Denied a decent buriel ,
stitched up rudely ,
and politically undone .

Once , there were riveters and welders .
Now , the former working man
kicks his heels
through the dust of apathy ,
and reflects
on just what hell is .

Broken women shuffle
aimlessly through derelict streets .
And the wind blows
icy beads of hatred ,
from the unrelenting sea .
As callous laughter
rings in their ears ,
the administrator
is unknown and unseen .

Skill counts for nothing
on a balance sheet .
To the shareholders
labour comes cheap .
As the ministers flex their
corporate muscle ,
and warn the unions
to prepare for defeat .

Solidarity gave hope
and passed resolution ,
against the secret handshake
and the old school tie .
But the unified front
dissolved in corporate dissolution ,
and the workers went home ,
feeling the sting
of the lies .

The gates are now locked .
No ships ,
being built in the docks .
No clang of the tools ,
no more work to rule .
The yards are like ghosts .
But where it hurts most ,
is in the minds of
good men
strong and true .