Out through the streets past houses new to our town in place of the old church they pulled down. In through the bluebell woods - there's none there today - where ghosts live and watch you on your way. The rumble of a train far away, that sound of people going somewhere. Up onto the bridge and then pause.... Then off past where people sit and watch swimmers swim. In sun or in rain they still wade in. Head down where the river bubbles churned by the bur an flows past the point of no return. Horses stand and stare far away, think of the road that lies ahead. Underneath the arch to the place I once was led, where last night local kids were drinking sat round a fire swapping tales and debating their desires. Scattered ash; empty bottles; stones and stumps were their chairs. Shadows fade and melt in smoky air. Rumble of the train far away echoes up the crooked stairs. Stop above the arch and then pause...
