of thought - musings about transport
rails on mighty trails
where once was wild and wide,
past fields of gold, frontiers unfold
across the great divide.
shafts of steel united,
east to west - bold and best
cross country burned and blighted.
red men rode and buffalo strode
majestic purple plain,
skyscrapers soar and people pour
for pleasure and for gain.
rugged range, both new and strange
vast climbing cavernous walls,
pursuing past, until at last
the angels city calls.
behind a bloody bull-bar
Astride three tons of metal,
And the fine applied
To you is CASH not FETTLE!
tried to cheat the cameras
With your digitised number plate,
You may rant and shout –
But they caught you out
(and you’re running two hours late!
an ancient Lada,
Wedged in by a Tesco lorry,
Debts of twenty grand –
In a jam (unplanned)
For yourself you’re feeling sorry!
you deserve to be where you are
In a seven-mile long tailback –
With your personal plate,
Now it’s far too late –
You should have gone by rail track!
B.R. has gone away
the scandals and the lies
the tenders and franchise
private’s here to stay
the public good disdain
for profit and for gain
will they run the lines that never pay?
twice hourly reduced to just two trains a day?
reductions in staff and quality supposed
and rural locations end up being closed
the network just won’t play
Virgin’s broken down
EWS left town
the companies don’t talk-
guess we’ll just have to walk!
New Voyager –
Crap or innovation?
Opinion definitely leans
what are they for?
Check performance so far!
Indicates a lack of vision-
Blast from the past?
best confined to yesteryear-
To end all trains!
Travel fast in comfort!
Lean, mean Pendolino machine!
the highwaymen came onward, onward, onward,
contemplating profits by the mile,
and regardless of the feelings
‘gainst their underhanded dealings,
made ready to construct their monstrous pile.
the planners started plotting, plotting, plotting,
truth from their lips had taken a vacation,
and these grey wolves in sheeps’ clothing
for the people showed a loathing,
as time will prove, there’ll be no alteration.
the bankers started counting, counting, counting,
their whole lives idolising Gods of Gold,
how much money they would make
counting not the lives they’d take,
or the tragic cost of the birthright they had sold.
the little ones were dying, dying, dying,
no homes, no food, no “where” to wander free,
but the highwaymen don’t care
‘bout the sadness and despair,
they don’t care for him, for her, for you, for me!
are you doing. going so fast,
trying to make today my last?
Think a bit, for heaven's sake!
That thing in the middle. it's called a brake!
scourge, your'e a bloody pest!
Did you ever pass a driving test?
Mad boy-racer, that's what you are
In a world of your own in your poser's car!
hand steering, the other on phone,
Let's hope the life you take's your own!
The trouble is, as you speed at will
It's likely innocent people you'll kill!
don't give a damn, you live for now,
You MUST get there, you don't care how!
Of obvious danger you take no heed,
All that's important ie reckless speed!
get squashed by lorry or tanker,
The end of you you bloody wanker,
As they piece together the bits of your head
You'll know nowt about it, 'cos you'll be DEAD!!!!!
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