The Red square sits coldly all alone
There is no one in the chair
Stocks of wonderful home brew gone
No meetings no one there

A small TV remains memorial
No longer tuned to the news
The day’s events that would please Trev
And sometimes cause the blues

The diary entries have stopped now
He no longer turns the page
To enter those who have privileged
Special times upon his stage

The bar fridge is still waiting
Sitting silent on the floor
Waiting for someone friend or family
To re-open the party door

The more you think about the Red Square
The more it was Trev in his time
And it was the saddest bloody day of our lives
When we lost him in his prime