Cloud Rider Caught the train from Coventry to London Saturday sweet autumn afternoon Calm between the football and Godivas Found a seat and dived into the view Right away my mind began to wander Floated free and flew out of the train Off the leash and off into the distance Chased the clouds and brought them back again Skeleton Cathedral touching heaven Firestorm witches cackle to the ground Boys in leather jackets pressing buttons Nothing but the shrill propeller sound Want to know about reconciliation? Forgiveness, and the cleaning of the soul? Well read the plaque and know they were forgiven All our troubles pale in face of that And maybe one day when our war is over When at last experience makes us wise We’ll lay a wreath at the feet of all our misdemeanours Say a silent prayer - apologise Benjamin Britten parks the Alvis Checks into the new hotel in town Closes his eyes and dreams in the cathedral Claps his hands and listens to the sound Jerry Dammers’ genius heats a basement While Thatcher’s Britain freezes out the town As Lesley spins a golden thread, God creeps in and listens “This one’s going straight to number one” The man sitting adjacent could be dangerous Looks like he could kill you with one punch Undercover Ops from Special Forces? Eating Tesco sandwiches for lunch And is his target sitting in this carriage Will I have to help if things get rough? Sacrifice myself for Queen and country Isn’t being a songwriter enough? Train breaks into run, the clouds are rolling Ferodo bridges rusted dirty brown Factory chimneys long since cooled reminders… Floodlights of a rotting football ground Tunnels through the hills dug out by cavemen Stronger than the ground they broke away Explosive like the dynamite that blew out the rock, Wildest night on earth each Saturday Village churches rise above the treetops Wedding cars move slowly up the hill Once more past the gate, the groom is running late The bride would be a widow now if looks could really kill And then my mind begins to wander..... Flying in a wartime Catalina Fifteen hundred feet above the ground Traffic jam below, it’s Friday rush hour Nothing but the twin propeller sound Hitching over England in a tin can Duxford down to Blackbushe for a show Mother there to meet me on the tarmac Where Bob Dylan landed years ago Rugby fades away and then Long Buckby Takes us to Northampton of the soul Fifteen minutes staring at the rooftops Darkening as the rain begins to fall England breathes an hour out of Euston Milton Keynes is fifty shades grey Bletchley Park where Turing saved the nation Was it really so bad to be Gay? Berkhampstead, a Priest stands on the hillside Drinking to the soul of Graham Greene, Heading down to Watford, past the Rocket Man. March toward the arch of Wembley Dappled Sunlight dances on the meadows As London rises up and draws us in Cricklewood you’re looking good, Euston you’re the man! West End Lane We’ll meet again God Bless Vera Lynn