Gangs of bowl hair
Congrigate
In piss soaked
Stairwells
Clump feet
Travel fast
Through the cut fence
To the den of fags and dares
Never once will they mourn
My passing night train
From so many small hands
Comes concrete block
Drifting through the caustic night air
Like the scent of a ghost
A million times I catch
The staring wild eyes
On their shitting faces
Turn and run away
The joy
The power of causing pain
But I say
Let them see the blood tears
Dripping from my glass eye
Let their fingers
Follow the hundred tiny scars
Let them mourn the passing
Of my night train