trans-albionic existential boogie

a travelogue, a travelogue & the first one of the year
through the many-coloured people that the tabloids love to fear
& a million different rhythms that surround us every day
still the BNP won Burnley, & understanding slips away

iphones, iphones, everywhere & not a spot to think
the executive across from me, it's pushed him to the brink
to the borderlands of psychopathic, can't offend that demographic
better hope it isn't me, 'cos I hate him so reflexively

& we're lurching on through England on this heaving, hurtling train
& we're creeping up on springtime & the thawing of our pain
my fellow passengers & I, it almost makes me proud to say
we stare disaster in the face, & it's just another day

leaders looking down upon us from another of their perks
but all of our resentment is the reason nothing works
so they paint the night with cameras, now there's nowhere we're unseen
I can only bow my head & pray to my configurine

waiting at our finger tips, the wisdom of the ages
but we only seem to use it to redecorate our cages
all this communication with so little left to say
& we're drenched in mediation, & we're empty when we play
the lessons of our TV mother, in one eye & out the other
english language left for dead while buzzwords circle overhead
for all our new technology & all its clever perks
this train has just two lavatories, & only one that works