Peaceful places
from here to there
passing windows
while on a train,
touching memories
almost gone
where you were the child
and time just went onand on.
Buskers beat across the bridge
across The Thames
before passing feet,
coins in a hat left on the floor,
keep on playing
wanting more.
Trumpet accordion
makes a couple laugh
as they are followed from behind.
Noise of trains from Charring Cross
as they rattle the iron bridge,
buskers playing never ceases
need more money
for rolls with cheese in.
Feet that tap the footways
that dance in the streets
make the shadows mimic
every single beat.
All the people copy
as they walk on passed
but they cannot stop their feet
they are infected it will last,
throughout all their life
they will always move
the way their feet did that day
it is what their feet so choose.
You head off to work
out of the station
carrying your bags and your newspapers,
you cannot stop
you must not be late
in fear of the boss
oh how he grates,
how you hate the place
wish you could turn around
go to the Southbank
somewhere eles in town,
but this is your life
from monday to friday
until they tell you
shake hands farewell
how do get out of this hell.
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