Eastender

Eastender (M. Russell)

The hardest place to find
Is where you belong
It’s so easy not to see
Heading homeward now
On the eastbound line
Where a warm light waits for me

Don’t look for rich men here
Cause you won’t find one
The working poor is who you meet
They make do each day
With what they’ve got
Bringing life to these dead-end streets

Kiss my sisters’ wearied faces
Shake my brothers’ calloused hands
Greet them warmly they’re my people
An Eastender’s what I am

You can hear an old guitar
Strumming in the night
The ageless songs of fair hearts won
Songs of simpler times
And burdens gone
The fragrant dreams of pauper’s sons

There lies the River Don
So muddy and deep
Old and slow but wise with age
Saints and sinners all
Have tread its banks
Seeking refuge from their rage

Kiss my sisters’ wearied faces
Shake my brothers’ calloused hands
Greet them warmly they’re my people
An Eastender’s what I am