Cobwebs and inch thick dust, everywhere, nothing but wrack and ruin taking over. Removing all traces of the glory and good times that went before.
Only the music….
The music . .
The air was full of its sounds . . .
Rays of light catching the dust that stirred on the air in beams that could have been sent out by spotlights, beams reflected from mirrors and mirror balls, you could hear the brass, the quick beats of the drummers, the sounds of the strings – big band playing it loud playing it proud. And the ghosts on the dance floor moving that way and this, lovers in the alcoves, the booths, in tight clinches, streamer kisses. The place it was roaring, elegant and fine, better times then, that place was mine.
Music played in all hours and the people moved to it going around and around.
Taking minds off the chaos away from the pain and the loss, of a world gone insane at war with itself. The spies in the corner playing their games, the dames looking for quick hits, never caring about names, the boys in their uniforms, the girls looking swell, some of them not in civvies looking fine sending men’s souls straight to hell.
The music played on everyone getting tight, seeking escape from these very dark nights.
I could tell you some stories, tell a few very white lies, tell some black ones as well but they come with a price.
Pour another drink, line a few up at the bar, come over here and come as you are. Take a long swallow tell me everything at more, look over there at the stairwell, see her? She’s one to adore.
She’s been looking for you? Been looking all night! Been drinking quite steady, the bucks have got her quite tight. Yet she’s been brushing them away like flies off a wall, she’s looking for you my friend, go over, here’s a key, take her up to the circle, use one of the stalls.
Watch as they go know how this one ends. The spies grinning wolfish, the war never ends.
Singer singing pretty, the heart growing cold, never to feel young again but never one to grow old, smell her before seeing her, feel her charms brush my arm, lean in to kiss her, feeling passions keen alarm.
Will you still be here at the end of all time?
Will you still be here you beautiful lover of mine?
When all this is over and the air raid sirens fall silent again?
Will you be beside me here in old London’s west end?