The building would have, in other time or place, been condemned.
Though far from neglected, many things remained there to mend.
Seemingly dead on the outside, it was hiding a vibrant life within.
So through the world-weary street entrance, we made our way in.

Up the stairs outlined with graffiti, multi-coloured flyers on the wall.
One level up and further in, deep inhaling smokers had filled the hall.
Round and up along the handrail, it led us straight to Aladdin's cave.
With art and artists working there with old brushes and a microwave.

And yet this, and the cinema we pass by as we move up ever higher
Is not the reason we have ventured out this cold night past the fire.
One floor further up is truly another level as we see the political few.
Here dance the party faithful with their denim jeans and champagne view.

The music is not as deftly woven or as precisely chosen as they think.
So though we've been introduced, we make our excuses after just one drink.
Back out into the dark lit street, we join others on a well-marked trail.
Along the many twisting side roads in pursuit of an ever later cocktail.