Barking Station 1981

Ash haired girl with solemn eyes,
sports faded denim for a disguise,
she's a bit of a treat for the old mince pies,
but dodgy on the ticker.
My hands are shaking, my neck's in a noose,
she's wearing emerald shades, like Irma La Douse.
I'd let her stare at me without an excuse.
Oh! If only she would.

Did you know: Leon Trotsky is alive today,
under an alias name and living on sick pay,
magnetic stare and he's hair is still grey.
I saw him on Barking Station.
Man in the whistle? he's a millionaire,
Makes a bomb sitting on a chair,
told the porter he hasn't got a thing to wear.
Somebody tell him it's 1981.

Dirty Dan, don't you stand too close,
bath once a year? no need to boast,
Rastafarian says: " Man, him got a dose".
Somebody nail him to a cross.
Look! It's Doctor Beaker in that GI mac,
tightly belted, collar up at the back,
they tell me he's going to get the sack.
Hey. Who isn't?

Coming down the stairs it's Veronica Lake,
by the look of her, she should soon be awake,
should have stayed in bed. Still we all make mistakes.
Er. We do, don't we?
The great platonic lover wears a duffel coat,
I bet, at weekends he sails a boat?
around his heart, he's dug a moat.
But everyone still wants to know him.

On Barking Station everyone's here,
The face from the past, the rear of the year,
every day they all disappear;
into the train now arriving.
They tell me; money moves in mysterious ways,
and they've cancelled the nine thirty nine to Grays.
Bleary eyes acknowledge the headline haze.
Oh, for the forests of Finland.




Capability Red 1981