Down In Highbridge Station At Midnight

“Down in Highbridge Train Station at Midnight” By Tom Quinton and Marcus Cooke

Chips papers skate across the street
Puddles of vomit fester at my feet
Shadows of loneliness
try to push me back
The town sheds a tear
as the train rolls down the track.

A nightmare,
a bad trip rolled into one
Fear sticks in my mind
like decaying bubble gum
The stench of death
blood on the tracks
The corpses of dead kittens
lie still, upright in there sacks.

Street lights flicker,
Madness in their eyes
Full of dirty secrets, and little white lies
Empty beer cans,
Empty souls
desperation swallowed them whole
Seagulls circle, like vultures of the night
Creating modern art, with white stained shite.

Distant echoes become terrifying close
Madmen with trench coats
become your welcoming host
Windows smash, the hotels in flames
the three faced liar covered up their names
He's the scourge of visitors
the shit on my heel,
he is the bane of my existence
who no longer thinks or feels
Scaffolding creeks like a worn out limb
He's buzzing like a fly in this town of sin
Far above away from shuffling crowds
Hidden from view but given away by nasty sounds
Every bridge, every platform is his watchtower
He observes all as information is his real power.

The lord of this realm keeps
watch over the lost souls below him
As the cursed and the redeemable,
pass through these gates of bedlam.

Welcome to Highbridge
says the sign over head
It’s like a kick in the bollocks
and a bullet through the head
Home is where the heart is,
my heart beats here
As I fade into the night,
and crack open another beer.