"Sheffield, I suppose, could justly claim to be the ugliest town in the old world" (George Orwell)
Patch-worked horizons, stitched with black smoke.
Dull, depressed clouds. Strangled, intoxicated.
Roaring furnaces attack the fragile skies
Fused with the dim pounding of hammers.
The clanging of pipes and steel.
Blistered, crucible, melted and welded.
Sooty faces and rining ears
expressions plagued with fatigue.
A weed-filled grave of rusting remains
broken chains, free from industrial bain.
Patch-worked horizons, stitched with black smoke.
Dull, depressed clouds. Strangled, intoxicated.
Roaring furnaces attack the fragile skies
Fused with the dim pounding of hammers.
The clanging of pipes and steel.
Blistered, crucible, melted and welded.
Sooty faces and rining ears
expressions plagued with fatigue.
A weed-filled grave of rusting remains
broken chains, free from industrial bain.
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