The Astonishing Bus Ride of Alan Fairfax

Alright? How's it going lad?

Not seen you in an age, let alone on a 2A

Heading north to Preston

Tamping the flatlands flatter still

They've put the prices up

That's one in the eye for all of us

Stoic, zealot, convert, True Believer

And non-believer alike, company men

Thieving our, no, I've seen, it's lovely

I know you've a bit

Tucked away, how's Sheila?

The kids? Alan, on your way home, bussing

A slow trail northwards, regular

Stops. You see nine crows, a wyvern

A hare pauses and listens a flock of linnets

Are so much careless punctuation

No one left at Kershaw's smiles for you

Laments your early dart and I, engaged

On matters of a nature I shall not discuss here

Have left my book at home and so...

Huh, when I get back they'll say

Why didn't you get the train?

Why didn't you rob them blind?

Turn the whole town

Upside-down and roar defiance at those

Who kill us with their beautiful numbers?

Let the 2A grind their bones deep into the stuff

And matter of the A59 and I'll say

I got talking

Alright? They treating you okay, son?

Doesn't matter, does it

You spend year after year

A number-monger, a clever fucker

But it never quite adds up.

As we roll through Rufford

Religions are born, flourish

And die. There's a dragon

Curled round Winter Hill

You can see it quite easy

If you're minded to look

Alan: everyone blames everyone

It is what it is, everything's fucked

But now? Right now? I really *believe*

In the book I left at home, and in

The rightness and justice of all our causes

Write it all down, seal the book

Leave it behind the bar of the Black Horse

It's got three doors, they can't watch all of them

Tell them History sent you

It's knocking on the door, it's coming