A poem of sorts

You might think this is bollocks but I quite like it considering the way I wrote it. It was written when I stayed in the West-end a few years back. I was lying on my bed and could only see the sky and rooftops out of the window due to the way I was lying, so i just wrote what I could see around me and a few more random thoughts...

Fly on the window, first of today
Clouds in the distance, all fluffy and grey
Rain on the roof tiles look slippy and wet
Head full of nonsense but not with regret.
Chimneys on rooftops seem smaller each day
Long gone the smokies, as gas paves the way
Cloud patterns shifting, the darkness draws near
Fly's on the window and I'm stuck in here.
Waiting for phonecalls, I lie on my bed
3 worn out pillows supporting my head.
Sitting in silence, guitar at my feet
creeky old bed frame and blue crumpled sheets.
Bags full of change sit on top of some drawers
I'm sat in peace while there's kids fighting wars
Who gives a fuck for the man in the street?
Certainly isn't the people I meet!