new world

They're building houses
in Daisy Chains Hollow
and Treehouse Woods
where Bobby split his knee.
It's all gone now,
gone are the level crossing
and that row of tired old
steam locos we played on.
Gruff old bugger
chased us off
and Jean fell in the river,
they've got fish in there now.

Four chews a penny,
shops long gone.
No more Jublys to share
or the chippy man's van
on friday.
They landscaped the slag heaps.
Used to hear the buckets,
we watched as they'd tip out,
and that winter of 62/63.
We had fibreglass bums
sliding down Armett's hill.
I swear we did sixty.

The year of foot and mouth
and searchlights
in the night sky.
World war three was starting
but it didn't.
And we were machine gun hero's.
Well our throats were anyway.
Bubble gum and Tizer,
smoking ten Gold Leaf
on the railway embankment
flattening nails
under loco wheels.

Dreaming dreams
and wanting to be
all growd up.
There's still plenty of dreaming,
some things never change.
But it seems like
so many have.