Dead End

Radio Record, Volume VII, Issue 10, 15 September 1933, Page 2

Dead End

WRITTEN BY

FOX

(Dedicated to the City Fathers of New Zealand.)

The end has come, my. heart is numb; "The end of life?" I hear you shriek? Ah no, my friend; I cite the end That happens to us every week. for to-morrow will be Sunday ; Day of darkness, day of horror; There is nowt to do till Monday ; Our Sabbath prayer-‘Come quick, termorrer." The picture-shows by law must close, . There is no place to sit and cuddle; The rich in cars go off to spas, But for the poor it’s just a muddle. No tram may run till after one, — The only sound is church bells ringing; They shut the park when it is dark, Next they’ll stop my canary singing. |

The pubs are closed, we may not drink ; No cafe may put on a show; «| All we can do is sit and think, All I can think is: "Ain’t it slaw: "

The rain comes down, the baby cries, Father is working out his losses, There is no sun, we can’t have funUnless we play at Noughts and Crosses,

In our despair we try the air To entertain us till our dinners; But all we get on the superhet Is a gloomy dean on "poor, lost sinners.’ No wonder sly-grog shops do well, No wonder lads will play fan-tan ; Why, opium would quickly sell On the Sabbath "hade for man!" Oh, how: we dread the thought of Sunday, Day of darkness, day of ‘horror; All we long for therr is Monday ; Our one prayer-"Come quick, termorrer!"