Sat on a filthy slow train
Slicing through the pouring rain
In the deepest North East of England
Trying to read the grubby local paper
On a nightmare train called a Pacer
Making a racket like a brass band

As you stand up to stretch
The train crosses a point or two
Flinging you left and right
Thinking that was stupid of you
Banging you head on the stupid luggage rail
You start to sob and you start to wail
Oh you bloody silly sausage

north east
just look at that foul sky

Pulling out of Middlesbrough
Under a dirty bleak sky
Watching the many cooling towers
Belching out venom that’s no lie

The whole bloody skyline is an industrial wasteland
Toxic resin tucked into the once gleaming bedrock
Bouncing around on a blasted ancient old train
And the little rascals skiving off school, running amok
Just when you thought it was safe to stretch your legs
The bloody toilet door opens in such a flash
Ten litres of filthy sewage splashing over you
That looks nasty and surely give you a rash
Oh you bloody silly sausage

Pulling up to Redcar no time to bet on the horses
The once grand station reduced to rubble and waste
Little old pensioners in their 1930s shabby suits
Sneaking onto the train smelling too much of toothpaste
Wanting to sneak down to play bridge at Saltburn
Because they could not trust the Coatham gang no more
Just when you thought you was safe to relax
You get violently jerked down to the floor
Oh you bloody silly sausage

Feeling bruised and battered and jeered at
Feeling too scared or to even ask
A simple question like how long have we left
As we whistle gleefully past Marske
What uproar as two old ladies start to scream
Their stop is now fading to a dot
One of the women fainted after a nasty turn
Looks like we are all getting off at Saltburn

We are almost there residential houses come into view
At last we can disembark from this museum relic
Just as we all were getting extremely excited and smiling
That bloody old train started struggling
Don’t you bloody dare!

saltburn station

One mile outside of the station and there we stood
Waiting for another bloody train to give us a shove
With it pouring down with rain on the outside
Health and safety states we stay on the inside
I am black and blue and covered in goo
I bloody big nugget on my throbbing head
I am feeling sick and feeling all down and hungry
But here I am sat on a Pacer train instead
What a bloody silly sausage

Darren Hobson is a published poet who writes constantly and truthfully, mixing his palette of words with detail and enthusiasm, he writes about society, the general grind of daily live but also writes short stories about the supernatural and dark fairy tales. He has many eBooks and paperback books on offer why not delve deeper into this artists mind?

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