Somebody lives there, in the place you've never heard of.
With bridges across roads and train lines never meant to be.
The backs of pubs with half names hanging from walls,
unused fields, too expensive to farm, too cheap to sell
and warehouse buildings with nothing to house, nothing in store.
The tight terraces and empty shops, the parks with no horizon,
Somebody lives there with dreams that rise and join.
That together say something, to those who listen,
That those who have lost life or live beyond
Their better judgement with imigination still
Have dreams within which to live
In the place from the train