Journeyman
(Ian Anderson)
Spine-tingling railway sleepers
Sleepy houses lying four-square and firm
Orange beams divide the darkness
Rumbling fit to turn the making worm.
Sliding throough Victorian tunnels
where green moss oozes from the pores.
Dull echoes from the wet embankments
Battlefield allotments. Fresh open sores.
In a 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 plataforms
Fireside slippers waiting - Flip. Flop
Journeymannight-tripping on the late fantastic
Too late to stop for tea at Gerrards 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 shudder in full cry
Down redundant morning papers
Abandon crosswords with a cough.
Stationmaster in his wisdom
toldthe guard to turn the heating off.
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