Cradled through England between flooded fields
Rocking, rocking the rails, my head-phones on
The black box of my Walkman on the table
Hot tea trembles in its plastic cup
I'm thinking of you waking in our bed
Thinking of me on the train. Too soon to phone
The radio speaks in the suburbs, in commuter towns
In cars unloading children at school gates
Is silenced in dark parkways down the line
Before locks click and footprints track the frost
And trains slide out of stations in the dawn
Dreaming their way towards the blazing bone-ship
The vodaphone you are calling
May have been switched off
Please call later. And calling later
Calling later their phones ring in the rubble
And in the rubble of suburban kitchens
The wolves howl into silent telephones
I phone. No answer. Where are you now?
The train moves homeward through the morning
Tonight I'll be home safe, but talk to me, please
Pick up the phone. Today I'm tolerant
Of mobiles. Let them say it. I'll say it too
Darling, I'm on the train