The world is packed with scaffolding and empty packing-crates
Where this train terminates
The humid air is poorly when the clouds are working nights
Moths crowd the windows dreaming hard of cancelled flights
Where this train terminates
Waiters ghost among the tables clearing dinner plates
Cocky foxes wearing human stoles take in the sights
Shadows build in places theirs by rights
The PM’s in a rocking-chair and the Chancellor is Norman Bates
Where this train terminates
Wings and beaks admire us from uncontested heights
The dead are using Twitter which amuses as it bites
Vox populi on Channel 4 dismays the Darwinites
The last ones out alas put out the pilot-lights
Then Life brings down the metal shutters and locks the metal gates
And this train terminates
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