Marketplace [Song Version]
Marketplace
This space is like a ghost town
Trestle tables row on row
Echoing with the hustle bustle
Vendors cries of long ago
I hold my mother’s hand
And listen to them shout
‘apples sixpence a pound
Come on get your money out!’
I went back there when I was home
All that was left were wooden frames
And rotting boards of each seller’s plot
The faint letters of stall holder’s names
Comics stored in cardboard boxes
Toys stacked high on stands
Gleaming in the Friday sun
Just out of reach of sticky hands
Fruit of every hue and colour
Potted beef and cuts of ham
Fresh cakes filled with layers of cream
Jars of marmalade and jam
I went back there when I was home
All that was left were wooden frames
And rotting boards of each seller’s plot
The faint letters of stall holder’s names
A carousel with blaring music
A café selling pots of tea
bacon sandwiches for a shilling
all this for just my mum and me
Another piece of childhood gone
Where every class of soul would meet
To buy and sell and gossip hard
Amongst the stalls beside Brook Street
Sometimes it hurts to return to the past
When all that’s left are sad old ghosts
Of better times that couldn’t last
And the bones of long forgotten hosts
I went back there when I was home
All that was left were wooden frames
And rotting boards of each seller’s plot
The faint letters of stall holder’s names
I went back there when I was home
All that was left were wooden frames
And rotting boards of each seller’s plot
The faint letters of stall holder’s names
Trevor Alexander
Tue 1st Oct 2024 14:26
They try to recreate the old markets with supersized shopping centres, but fail miserably. The sanitised, dehumanised cathedrals of commerce are just not the same. Just an excuse for increased 'stallholder' rents, and thus ever higher prices.