The “Nelson” is a public house
On the corner of a shabby street,
It sells the usual beer and crisps,
And at night a musical beat.

You’ll see the same old crowd in there
all sitting in the same old place,
The far end of the bar sits an old man
And no ones ever seen his face.

He was in a fire twenty years ago
And it caught him in the head,
He was quite severely injured
But some thought he was dead.

Then there is the blonde girl
Always sitting on her own
hair a mess, lipstick smeared
Her figure just skin and bone.

She has a lost look upon her face
Drinks glass after glass of red wine,
Nobody knows of her secret
She takes it with her at closing time.

A young man sits at the piano
Playing tunes no one wants to hear,
His glass lies empty with the smell
of last nights rank stale beer.

His bony fingers rake the keys
As he plays a mournful song,
He’s plagued with many problems,
And he doesn’t have to long.

Some people are sitting at tables
No one dares to sit in their place,
whilst other’s are playing domino’s
and trying to keep up with the pace.

They are all searching for something
Something that has passed them all by,
They were much too busy to see it then,
And now no one can hear them cry!

They do not have to think at the “Nelson”
They just put their lives back on hold,
They drink till the landlord calls closing
Then shuffle out to the night and the cold,

The “Nelson” will be open tomorrow
But only for those from the grave,
The “Nelson’s been closed for twenty years
Open only for the ones that were not saved.