Yes it's still there. Crumbling, largely forgotten but still hopelessly clinging on:
Crows circle it's sun-bleached buttresses as the roaches march onwards from flat to flat:
Glaring hoardings and rusted gates shut the emptiness out, as tower by forgotten tower awaits its turn:
Outside we gather and mumble in our respectful tones. Those poor damned souls we say. Those poor bloody nameless figures within:
Meanwhile the forgotten few shuffle on in their ones, from the doctors, to the pharmacy, to the church:
As the gathering triffids crawl on remorselessly. As the gathering triffids bloody rampage from street to street:
On each corner, laminated eviction notices cut against the breeze:
As Elford, Felton, Gallus, Goldmark silently await their turn. As 1-52, 137, 138 and 139 each patiently await their turn:
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