The East End Poem by Daniel McDonagh

In the famous land of the barren east end
lies broken factories and foundries,
the old city of industrial past
is forgotten and full of broken waste.

The empty buildings and houses
parallel empty shops and pubs,
and children run through them and play
and write their names on the dusty walls.

The gangs have all grown up and left
and the remaining houses lie like slums,
abandoned cars stand faded and rusted
and will die like the factories and people.