Aint No Place To Kneel

I run my fingers over the driftwood carcass of a B&Q kitchen island,
A leather belt snake coils out of the charred embers, labelled Made in Thailand,
Little blue sandals, picked at by vultures, vandals, no longer run in bliss,
The rockpools cough and steam and, oh, these winds don't sing they hiss!
The anatomy of the land, is anorexic, jutting out from fence posts, offensively
jaw bone of the cliff-top chewing the cud of the beach, pensively
Ribs caved in, the abdomen of a valley, once fertile,
Her rotten teeth in her dry mouth, smile.
"Can you spare us a penny?" You can hear her moan,
under the weight of swamp-slicked hair, and the burden of bones,
Dreaded in a top-knot of ancient travels, 
Where out spills the parasitic lice of the last few mammals.
"Please, I just need some help, some help, some change will do…"
And ten pound notes float in the lakes of eyes, oil gurgling in her great deep blue.
Ya see, fishermen once heaved their nets from here, and The famous five pickled boiled eggs and giggled down here,
And if you hold up the conch shell, you can sometimes hear,
A football game from Liverpool.
But, the rockpools cough and steam now and the winds don't sing they hiss,
Acid rain burns polka-dots in umbrellas, where nervous movie-stars once kissed. 
And a receipt for roses and champagne, from better days, scurries in the breeze,
A bottle of Irn-Bru and Vodka bobs in frothy neon orange debris, 
whispering of times that bubbled with the luxury of ease,
as ancient cities collapse and sleep under the rising tidal seas.
No drug induced festivals, where be my delinquent Desdemona?
O! Sharks now sniff Venetian balconies to meet Juliet in sweet Verona.
And as we collect the last few coca-cola cans and pile them on our back,
And we take memory foam mattresses to insulate our shacks,
As we use old phone leads to walk our dogs, and scavenge along the shore,
The wind doesn't sing no more, amore,
The birds don't sing for dawn no more, nay!
The kettles burnt and fizzled, 
Cus' we ignored the whistle,
And why did our Gods have such trust?
Well, now there ain't no place to kneel in the rust.