badly lit scene

the end of the birmingham sun, set like a heavy gold coin submerging beneath the stretched cleavage of clouds, sideways on the horizon - lying. the sun out of puff and subsistuted by gross, twilight-destroying sheens of yelling low. lights - action. the monotonous burnt shade that bores into you like suburban childhood in the dark. you know what im talking about. the hypnotic street-lamp glow that you used to stare out of your bedroom window at when it was past your bed-time. not the new white clinical, set into the walls and ceilings, but the old green and grey iron, pushing out through the tarmac, swaying such heavy yellow.