Drumming across windows
In both of the toilets
Banging could frequently be heard
Dragging chairs under the stairs
In the entrance hall

Thawed in the cheesy music
Leading to the main bar
Twitching across your back
Like a whistle blower
Drowned out by the noise

Over the sticky floors
And watered down lager
Curving into a maze of bodies
Aglow in a series of frantic lights
Sweeping diamonds in their dreams

Caged with the TV Screen
Dangling half drunk from the ceiling
Scrunched with a frightening rage
Held back by invisible hands
Wishing for the carnage to end

Over the top of a sign that always said
Drinking, dancing, cavorting
While the revernd sits there unseen
Constantly spitting feathers
Throwing toilet paper in the air

And attempting to push staff
Down the stairs as if to say
They weren’t getting out of there
Anywhere near quick enough
For his liking.

(Brannigans  is a now closed Bar in the centre of Manchester which was reportingly haunted by Reverend Collier, a fierce anti alcohol revernald at the start of the 20th Century of which his church, Albert Halls became Brannigans at one point).