The bins of Old London are fattened and gorged
Gulping down gadgets and cracked plastic toys,
Gagging on curry, tofu and toast,
Somebody’s rubbish and somebody’s joy,
Grandpa’s teeth and mothers’ pink socks,
All bunged in the bins of old London.

But foxes feed here, and squirrels swing by,
So do the homeless and thrifty.
What is worthless to you
Is worth more than jewels
To the hungry and poor of Old London.

The bins of Old London vomit it up,
Spewing up papers, bottles and chips,
Over the pavements and broken rose gardens,
While the tribes of this city walk carelessly by,
Stuffing, discarding and chucking away
The things which you needed,

But forgot anyway.