The Hill of Content.
There’s rowdy celebration
In the houses of Beaumont.
There’s champagne corks a poppin’
Amid cheery faces of content.
But there’ll be no smiling faces
In the lowland avenues,
Just wasted young people treading
The weary paths to local dole queues.
There’ll be a dozen new dreams fostered
In well appointed offices.
Their well-fare’d suckled children
Safely tucked in colleges.
But there’ll be no dreams for children
Of the outer city sprawl,
Save the dream of permanent income
From the social welfare maw.
And you can’t help having contempt
For those folk on “Content Hill”,
When they ravish “well-stocked tables”
While we swallow the bitter pill.