While the feeble hoards where scrabbling to gawk at London's tourist attractions, we were having an
al fresco lunch beside the tracks at Waterloo, preparing for a journey into the wilds of Vauxhall. I would not normally post three of the same subject, but I am sure a few others want to see why we spent an hour or more wandering around a gasometer...
Take a litle walk to the edge of town
Go across the tracks
Where the viaduct looms,
like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks
Where secrets lie in the border fires,
in the humming wires
Hey man, you know
you're never coming back
Past the square, past the bridge,
past the mills, past the stacks
On a gathering storm comes
a tall handsome man
In a dusty black coat with
a red right hand...
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