The train station

The train station.

A tanked up football fan
singing over an 8 piece brass band.

A fusion of blue language.

The place is scale electrix hectic.

hanging doves look down
on us as if we're all mad.

Spitfire prams, frostbitten hands
No one knows where they're really going.

But that Shakin Stevens cover makes the rush okay

 Merry Christmas everyone.*

Where do all the snowmen go?

Everyone must attempt a Christmas song, right? This is the song of the disappearing snowmen

If I were to be built again
I'd be flying with damage control
Tell me love beyond the frosten white throw
Where do all the snowmen go?
Where do all the snowmen go?

Now on the shelf
Dry ice for heavy coats
Rubbing shoulders with poisoned folks
The smile you once had etched
Button nose you pressed
It was all a little too much for your bare naked chest.