Depart Manchester Piccadilly; 14:56 arrive oxford

Depart Manchester Piccadilly; 14:56 arrive oxford 17:36
3rd march 2003

The wrinkled skin over a collared cough
The stubbled age of years that were rough
On the face and mind, no 2 alike
On the rectangle ambler, an occupied pike

Which spears through fields in a bored demeanour
No rest for my mind until I've seen her
The humid hills and their wooded hairstyle
Like a frozen tide, mile after mile

Serene stream scenes is what I look for
Of Oxfordshire in spring, like bygone lore
Forgotten friends flood back in the song
Of my minds eye and it feels so long

Since I saw those dewy smiles of my stoned companions
The train trots on, like an injured stallion
Fade to black, then the world surges back
When it feels the darkest, the light attacks

This carnaged cemetery, full of lies
The shadowed smiles and worried eyes
Tunnelled coma's as you wait to emerge
The other passengers, seemingly a scourge

The stones on the track lengthen and bruise
On this endlessly evil cross country cruise
This seemingly timeless tumoured trip
Waiting for home, wont the clock skip?

So I can be in oxford now, not in a while
The conductor comes and goes, with a wooden smile
Another river but this one unique
For the land either side, wants to creep

And rejoin their seams across the watery slit
Deadlocked by gravity, all the while I sit
I start to pity the man in front
So obsessed by money, silly cunt

I wonder if hes happy with the life hes chosen
The spiritual journey, for him, frozen
Banished to his dreams and replaced by currency
No desire for truths, no flights of fancy

No drug induced rides through the minds eye
Keeps it all simmering down, ignoring the sign
The sign of aging, without having truly lived
Must be hard, like watching sand through a sieve

I hope to never be that wrinkled skin
Above that saggy shirt, within
Boiling to bursting with the things I've missed
People, places, skies never kissed