Single carriage train, across the Pennines and back again
Rattling through an English garden, all the world
Suburban fields fade, slowing down to the promenade
Frost crackles on a moonlit platform, all the world is closed.
No old bars remain, a Wetherspoons in the Market Place
Brash boys from a bustling taxi, and it’s a short ride
Some things never change, locked out on Hasty Lane
Warm glow behind the rustling curtain, all the world just folds.
Slow, cold, bittersweet old road, going back to you…
