Ghost Train

 

This is the ghost train that won’t make the Border, 

Bringing chaos and transport disorder

More cash for the rich, no help to the poor

Closed shops on the corner, all empty next door

Pulling up in Brum, the end of the line

Well over budget, stopped in time

No cotton grass or moorland boulder

No fast trains til we’re all a lot older

No student railcards or pensioner passes

Just concrete covered in weeds and grasses

Blighted lives and chopped down trees

No wild flowers for insects or bees

Birds turn their heads as she approaches, 
Stare from bushes at her empty coaches. 

 

Sheep dogs wait as diggers gather rust

Northern hopes crumble slowly to dust

 

By the farm she won’t pass they’re counting the cost

Of the anxious wait and ten years lost 

 

Dawn freshens. Her course is run

From Euston just to Birmingham 

No Silver Service for speed and ease

No Staffordshire Cakes or Cheshire cheese

No link from the North to all points south

Just weasely words from a weasely mouth

And measly promises drawn up in haste

So many lies, so much waste

In Forgotten places from Holyhead to Hull

When they needed a boost they just got bull

And so they shrug and utter imprecations

And wait like they do in Third World nations

Forgotten lives In forgotten towns 

Forgotten lines forgotten sounds

Of proper trains not run by chance

Like they have in Italy, Spain and France

No more fiddles for the chosen few

No more denials of stuff that’s true

No more trust in the colour blue

No more mention of HS2