There’s a fat rusting machine, like a sewage pipe cannon concealed
in the corner with cables running out’ve it like something unearthed
from the 1940’s – east end of London. ‘Beware of Blast’ – you can just about read
on a pealing label stuck to it’s crusty lips. But there’s more fun than fear
from that gaping hole, when the lights go down & the rhythms roll.