by Colin Ward

Created on: December 26, 2008   Last Updated: May 14, 2009

Saturday night, every week,
This is where we'd meet,
On this baron parking lot,
We'd live,love, and cheat.

Here we would sit to sink,
the spirit, and the ale,
'til it gave us the glitter balls,
to go and chat to girls.

I don't expect you to imagine now,
amidst these puddles and stones,
the shimmey shined hardwood floor,
twisting dancers in sweaty clothes.

One hundred beats a minute,
two hundred flashing lights.
Like moths they drew us in,
and crowned us for the night.

Here it was that we forgot,
days mundane just before.
This is where we forgot,
that after, there were more.

Here a thousand couples met,
This is where it all started,
Here a thousand couples left,
with one of them broken hearted.

Once here a dancehall stood,
Palace of lights and funky base,
How could they ever take it away?
This haven in a hopeless place.

Now Saturday night, every week,
here they stow their fancy cars.
And with posh friends share a joke,
in the pubs they call wine bars.

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