lament of a condemed building

I've been messing with different metres lately. Here are some of the fruits of my labour.

When all the lights have burnt full out
and sounds of living gone away
when all the people leave my halls
my families move on, move on
when my doors, shut for the last
latches rusted, holding all in
still will be the pain and joy
residing in my walls
Paint will peel and chip away
thrown about will furniture be
yet all the filth and slow decay
will fail to confound, or turn away
the sounds of people in my walls
the smells of cabbage, sausage, cooking
the ancient cry of tenement halls
the faint residue of rooms
where lives were spent from start
to the last exhalation
Moistening my walls slightly
still I'll sit in degradation
waiting for destruction
while I wait to be detached
limb by limb they'll take me
I wait here with the memories
of people who forsake me.