Spine-tingling railway sleepers ---
|
Sleepy houses lying four-square and firm
|
Orange beams divide the darkness
|
Rumbling fit to turn the waking worm.
|
Sliding through Victorian tunnels
|
where green moss oozes from the pores.
|
Dull echoes from the wet embankments
|
Battlefield allotments. Fresh open sores.
|
|
In late night commuter madness
|
Double-locked black briefcase on the floor
|
like a faithful dog with master
|
sleeping in the draught beside the carriage door.
|
To each Journeyman his own home-coming
|
Cold supper nearing with each station stop
|
Frosty flakes on empty platforms
|
Fireside slippers waiting. Flip. Flop.
|
|
Journeyman night-tripping on the late fantasic
|
Too late to stop for tea at Gerard's Cross
|
and hear the soft shoes on the footbridge shuffle
|
as the wheels turn biting on the midnight frost.
|
On the late commuter special
|
Carriage lights that flicker, fade and die
|
Howling into hollow blackness
|
Dusky diesel shudders in full cry.
|
Down redundant morning papers
|
Abandon crosswords with a cough
|
Stationmaster in his wisdom
|
told the guard to turn the heating off.
|
|
-----------------
|
Journeyman
|
Jethro Tull |