In a Hamilton back alley-- Concrete blocks and broken glass And, struggling through the cinders, A few green tufts of grass-- A wrecked car with smashed windows Is the children's playground; They throw stones against its door And listen to the sound. Their faces and hair are dirty: It doesn't bother them a great amount Because in the world they live in Cleanliness doesn't count. They are not afraid of The neighour's dog's fierce bark; And so they play their time away Till driven by the dark. |
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