Places once loved are forgotten, discarded like sweet wrappers, swept away in the wind.
Places swallowed by the gloomy atmosphere that holds Merthyr like a prison.
Places trapped in a fortress of noise, endless conversation slurred by last night’s mighty pint, with the impatient roar of the metal lion and the howl of the wind.
Places ruined by the art of the ASBOs and the unwanted. Places yearning for respect, places where heroes are remembered.
Places longing to be loved, loved by the people. Places needing life, needing an escape from a dreary world of vultures snapping at purses.
Places demanding attention, wanting to be noticed like the proud statues of heroes that once were.
Places of music and art that are lost in the depths of the high street, the gloom of the town and the world of the mine.