Every which way but...

I know this platform,

These tracks,

Those tracks too.

I know this place.

God I know this place;

There I drank,

There smoked too.

I know these platforms.

Once I caught the

Yellow train

And found myself

In Liverpool.

In Liverpool,

The first day,

I moved myself

And I was caught.

Somewhere between there and here I was caught in another way.

I’ve told that story a few times. A kind of movie.

Sometimes your journey starts halfway through another one,

And you can find yourself in a duo for the rest of your days.

I know this platform too.

These tracks

Those take you

Back home, to drink.

Oh I wanted to drink:

To shout and show

These tracks

I knew those platforms too.

Once I said that

I tried to get home

So I went up front

And tried to drive the train.

(I said I tried to drive,

But in actual fact

I just saw the open cockpit.)

But I said that,

Because it was a good story to tell, and I enjoyed telling it.

And I enjoyed believing it. So did the people that heard it.

They wanted to believe it too. And, really, really, who

Was I to deny that? Who was harmed? So fuck it.

And these platforms -

To Wales or Manchester

Or Leeds or wherever -

To countless gigs.

To countless gigs

With mates and magickers

Seeking the pleasure

From these platforms.

I’m here again,

But I don’t know which way

I’m supposed to go, and

I’m confused by this.

I’m confused by this

For a moment; which way

These days is home?

I’m here again.

It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it. Seeing the same brick and rusted iron

That’s stood for longer than I could, though year on year it changes

Slightly, but inexorably. I spose I do too. Some of us can’t.

That’s a strange feeling. Well, it’s not a fun game. I wish these platforms

Could help me travel

Not to different places

But to different times.

Back to those moments.

And back to moments

Where some now-faded faces

Are sharp-drawn and fine.

Only fleetingly can my sad mind travel

To those times.