Rock at the Pawleyne Arms Penge

The local guitar slingers are all here

 They are slightly frazzled from work and tax.

 It’s a golden blur of music and beer –

 Come down to the Pawleyne Arms; bring your axe.

 Dionysius beats up Apollo

 In cycles, new forms emerge from decay

 Good times are replaced by bad tomorrows

 But, here, the old songs don’t go away.

 The riffs are passed on from father to son

 Battered and polished like prized old guitars.

 Peter Green, Jeff Beck and Eric Clapton

 Are remembered in these faded old bars.

 Their hair is sparser now; these cavaliers

 Revive the glories of their former years.