Broke and broken
bravely outspoken
James Lester Burke
dreams the worst
with words worth no gold
and fortunes are told
by cockroaches typhoid and dysentery

A cry from the Brickfields
No sky in the Brickfields
I lie in the Brickfields
Till I die. Till I die.

A night watchman stands
stinking of drink
asks someone dying
hows its hanging
inside the walls
like pigs in a pen
this depot of damned
should be condemned

Outcast cast out away
from Ireland to clay
only bad news came today
a fine writer in a pauper grave
James Lester Burke
is free again.