Hanging on a convenience wall,

A roll of two-ply crepe and one-ply clear,

The silent sentinels of health,

supplied by the corporation hygiene surveyor,

Perforated, sectionalised, medicated, sterilised each layer,

Property of Birmingham City Council now please wash your hands.

But, if you think this is all that these tissues appear to be,

Then listen to the kind of thing these tissues have to be and have to see. 



They're witness to a junkie's needs, soaking up the blood spilled on the floor,

A message scribbled on a sheet, state date, time and size pushed under the door,

Rolled up to a pellet size, shoved into the hole drilled through the wall,

Streaming projectiles hurled through the air out of the trains after games of football.

But I don't suppose anybody really cares, there's too many nowadays just want to wipe their ass of the whole affair.