Walking Ghost

A seaside town,on the British West coast
 The plight of the spice head,a walking ghost
An expression so empty,like an old hotel room
 A future of vacancy,doom and gloom
Sat in shop doorways,a face full of grime
 A date with the reaper,just a matter of time
Head hung forward,as the spice takes effect
 They don't give a damn,what happens next
A guilt sort of feeling,to see this on our streets
 As our lives are much better,fulfilled and complete
Some don't care,how their lives will end
This seems to be,the unfortunate trend