The Sandringham Line

She's given it some thought

And it's giving her some grief

Could it be she's bored beyond belief?

By the time she says goodbye

She's looking somewhere else

Stifling a sigh and gritting teeth



At the open door she pauses

It's grey and wet and warm

Before the pending storm

Every now and then she misses horses

We're too young for regrets

This is the closest that she gets



So I sleep in with the cynics

While she pushes from her mind

The twenty-seven minutes of the Sandringham line

The suburbs sliding past

Stretching to the sea

Her fingers brush the glass unconsciously



At the open door she pauses

It's grey and wet and warm

Before the pending storm

Every now and then she misses horses

We're too young for regrets

Surely we're too young for regrets



I sat backwards on the train

And suddenly the city was further and further in front of me