Royalty wasn't what it used to be:
It creaked much more, through walls and threadbare floor.
The groans and gasps had made me feel so poor
I peeled my ear away, so not to see.
The station's now more open, glass above:
Through rotten, propped-up sashes I could hear
Cathedral chants announcing trains were near,
Between the coal trucks' reminiscent shoves.
I couldn't say that night was worth my stay.
Conclusions? Same as always, I would say :
Life's not a game I should expect to win.
Just one frustrating note kept popping in
Between attempts to make contact with you:
Newcastle has no fast trains screaming through.