The Unfairness Of Angels
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 The Snooker club
The flower patterned carpets stained with alcohol and ash
And the smoke drifting through the dim lit rooms smelling of hash
The sound of balls hitting balls
Echo in the dark and dingy halls
Eyes stare from the corners of the room
Adding to the character of gloom
Men mumble about their week ahead, their wife or new car
While others talk to the polish girl behind the late licence bar
The faded tattoos on the men's arms
And the talk in the corner about cheap firearms
As drug deals are made over a few frames
The gangsters talk, mentioning no names
And as I press the buzzer to let me in
I walk past over hearing it all but don't say a thing
I meet my mates down there for a few games
Forgetting about life playing snooker, taking away lives pains.

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