Isolde is fifty today, wowser.

Isolde is fifty today, wowser.

There is no denying

The truth behind dying

It is as inevitable

As a poor tax

No matter the wish for a stoppage

Even a reversal

When so many believe the worst

Nostalgia is an industry

A prison

From which there is no escape

In this lifetime

Do I detect a hint of regret

The mention of all things past

As good

All things new as bad

Is a sad affair

For the bitterly afflicted

Stuck in the doldrums

Counting sheep

Mithering about the past

Forgetting blue Mondays

Black Fridays

Bloody Sundays

The wind whistling

Through the dead days

When towns closed

Too many people

With a short attention span

Skimming the cream

Off the top of the milk

Forgetting the sour taste

Of it on the turn.

A day out of the churn

But left on the step

The delivery was too late

For early risers off to work.

Before the sun rose above the rooftops

Coated in frost

And grime

Before the Clean Air Act

Took the coaldust away

Brightening the sky

Paving the way for technicolour.

When flower power

Disguised inequality

Behind a facade of peace and love

Lord above

How we boys enjoyed it

But across the universe

Beyond the guru

Timothy Leary and Yoko

Discrimination was rife.

It still is in many places

Whether you believe it or not

Pinched pink faces

Will still get a better deal.

The past was the past

And it is dead

Just let it go

Use your head

Make things better

For the future

Before it too is gone.

Only the present is real

Hold on to it

For the time it is here

Unlike the Circle Line

It won’t come around again.