At suburban railway stations--you may see them as you pa**--
there are signboards on the platform saying "Wait here second cla**,"
And to me the whir and thunder and the cluck of running-gear
Seem to be forever saying
"Second cla** wait here--
"Wait here second cla**
Second cla** wait here."
Yes, the second cla** were waiting in the days of serf and prince,
And the second cla** are waiting--we've been waiting ever since,
There are sighboards in the background, and the line is bare and drear,
Yet they wait beneath a signboard, sneering "Second cla** wait here."
I have waited oft in winter, in the mornings dark and damp,
When the asphalt platform glistened underneath the lonely lamp,
And I waited there and suffered, waited for many a year,
Slaved beneath a signboard, saying "Second cla** wait here."
Ah! a man must feel revengeful for a boyhood such as mine.
God! I hate the very houses near the workshop by the line;
And the smell of railway stations, and the roar of running gear,
And the scornful-seeming signboards, saying "Second cla** wait here."
There's a train, with d**h for driver, that is ever going past;
There will be no cla** compartments and we all must go at last
For the long white jasper platform with Eden in the rear;
And there won't be any signboards, saying "Second cla** wait here"
"Wait here second cla**
Second cla** wait here."