Wasteland Poem by Kris Whelan (1971)

No money’s easy for a bullet in the face
Seventeen years old, Jesus what a waste
For a twenty quid high and a silly alibi
A seventeen year old boy who never said goodbye
What song did he sing to get off to sleep?
On that rain drenched street when they came to reap
The seeds they sowed inside his mind
And a world of empty pockets as he lay and died
Too high to stand, feeling grand
Nowhere to land, just a cold hand
Wasteland
And a mothers tears for her baby boy
An unknown killer watched him die
And take his last breath; blood on the street
The wasteland air takes the last of the heat
Nobody seems to see the human side
When a kid lies dead at some park and ride
It doesn’t even make the news
And just some people in the pews
Hush! Now don’t you cry
I’m the one who watched him die
Hush child don’t you cry; let me warm your cooling hand
In wasteland