Pregled posta

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The distant echo
Of faraway voices boarding faraway trains.
To take them home to
The ones that they love and who love them forever.
The glazed, dirty steps, repeat my own and reflect my thoughts,
Cold and uninviting, partially naked
Except for toffee wrapers and this mornings paper;
Mr. Jones got run down.
Headlines of death and sorrow, they tell of tomorrow,
Madmen on the rampage.
And I’m down in the tube station at midnight.
I fumble for change, and pull out the queen,
Smiling, beguiling.
I put in the money and pull out a plum.
Behind me
Whispers in the shadows: gruff blazing voices
Hating, waiting.
‘Hey, boy’ they shout, ‘Have you got any money?’
And I said. ‘I’ve a little money and a take away curry,
I’m on my way home to my wife.
Shell be lining up the cutlery,
You know shes expecting me,
Polishing the glasses and pulling out the cork.’
And I’m down in the tube station at midnight.

I first felt a fist, and then a kick,
I could now smell their breath.
They smelt of pubs and Wormwood Scrubs
And too many right wing meetings.
My life swam around me,
It took a look and drowned me in its own existence.
The smell of brown leather,
It blended in with the weather,
It filled my eyes, ears, nose and mouth,
It blocked all my senses,
Couldnt see, hear, speak any longer.
And I’m down in the tube station at midnight
I said I was down in the tube station at midnight.

The last thing that I saw
As I lay there on the floor
Was Jesus Saves painted by an atheist nutter.
And a British Rail poster read have an awayday, a cheap holiday
Do it today!
I glanced back on my life
And thought about my wife
‘cause they took the keys, and she’ll think its me...
And I’m down in the tube station at midnight.
The wine will be flat and the curry’s gone cold.
I’m down in the tube station at midnight
Don’t want to go down in a tube station at midnight.

The distant echo -
Of faraway voices boarding faraway trains
To take them home to
The ones that they love and who love them forever
The glazed, dirty steps - repeat my own and reflect my thoughts
Cold and uninviting, partially naked
Except for toffee wrapers and this mornings paper
Mr. jones got run down
Headlines of death and sorrow - they tell of tomorrow
Madmen on the rampage
And Im down in the tube station at midnight
I fumble for change - and pull out the queen
Smiling, beguiling
I put in the money and pull out a plum
Behind me
Whispers in the shadows - gruff blazing voices
Hating, waiting
Hey boy they shout - have you got any money?
And I said - Ive a little money and a take away curry,
Im on my way home to my wife.
Shell be lining up the cutlery,
You know shes expecting me
Polishing the glasses and pulling out the cork
And Im down in the tube station at midnight

I first felt a fist, and then a kick
I could now smell their breath
They smelt of pubs and wormwood scrubs
And too many right wing meetings
My life swam around me
It took a look and drowned me in its own existence
The smell of brown leather
It blended in with the weather
It filled my eyes, ears, nose and mouth
It blocked all my senses
Couldnt see, hear, speak any longer
And Im down in the tube station at midnight
I said I was down in the tube station at midnight

The last thing that I saw
As I lay there on the floor
Was jesus saves painted by an atheist nutter
And a british rail poster read have an awayday - a cheap holiday -
Do it today!
I glanced back on my life
And thought about my wife
cause they took the keys - and shell think its me
And Im down in the tube station at midnight
The wine will be flat and the currys gone cold
Im down in the tube station at midnight
Dont want to go down in a tube station at midnight

—The Jam