Upon the platform here I wait br And watch the rain come pouring down, br No other soul for company br To pass the time away, br The slatted bench on which I sit br With peeling paint all scrawled and etched, br Beside the bin that overflows br With litter and decay. br br The hands upon the clock above br Seem frozen for so slow to move, br To click each minute passing by br It mocks relentlessly, br As puddles gather one by one br Beyond the shelter of the roof, br Where wind does blow the paper cups br Which yields more misery. br br I hiver with the bitter cold br And blow my hands to keep them warm, br Yet still I find no respite from br This bleak November's eve, br Desrted in the desperate throws br Of winter how I long to be, br Back home again but still I wait br For I just cannot leave. br br I gaze unto the silver rails br That wind into the distance there, br With sleepers stained so thick with oil br Yet still no train in sight, br While over on the other line br A Deltic trundles slowly past, br And pulling coal in blackened trucks br With all its strength and might. br br With whistling wheels and buffer chinks br The diesel coughs and cackles by, br While points do clang and clunk so loud br And choking smoke of blue, br That drifts across these empty lines br I hold my breath until it clears, br And wach the train as it does go br Then disappear from view. br br And then the hush descends again br Upon the empty platform here, br While circles in the puddles stare br With every dropp that falls, br The red light shines from out the gloom br As I look down the track ahead, br And wait and wait but nothing comes br A captive of these walls.