Speeding train, running through,
escaping one city, entering another.
Burning rubber smells waft through nostrels;
then mutters of disgust in an English way.
Where even are we?
My head aches as I look tired in the window's reflection...
greasy hair, bags under eyes, tight lipped, stressful frowning,
from city to city.
Curly haired girl drinks too much at once.
She's a poppet and is spoken for,
a fine gentleman I'm sure,
chequered shirt of course.
Oriental girl combs back her dark hair.
She's a poppet and is spoken for,
a long haired, young lad, bad clothes, sneezes,
can't grow a beard,
though he's a fine gentleman I'm sure.
A well spoken lady has spoken all journey,
as constant as the wheels turning.
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