In an old, proud city once built on fish
There is a rather nasty tasting dish:
An idea was seeded, watered in dreams,
A place for the city’s unspoken themes
But when that seed did grow into a tree
It’s long awaited fruit failed to fall free.
Instead it was plucked off as if in greed
And addressed gluttony instead of need.
The thought of this Früit just makes feel me sick;
This poxy cube not fit for live music.
No thought at all for the reverb of sound,
Just a concrete box that makes your ears pound.
This in itself would be much by the by
If the cost of the place was not so high!
It says it caters for the young and broke,
But the cost of the a drink is a bad joke!
Though what does go to undercut the arts
(Which are represented quite well in parts)
Is that you still have to pay on the door!
This Früit is rotten, of this I am sure.