Oh woe is me living in this city of great depravity. A sword hanging over my head lets me know that any happiness in my otherwise pointless life is temporary. As the rain floods the valley of lewisham, the waves clashing against Hillyfields and a giant waterfall cascading down Harefield Road toward Brockley. The skies are grey and realise I had my day. Now I am old, a shrivelled prune who has faded to grey.
