Pembroke Tenneson
Lyricist: Composer:
I fish out my Oyster card then step on moving stairs...
As I sink beneath the streets I'm overwhelmed with cares.
A train howls in the station, a scream of clattering sound.
It's no surprise I'm feeling low-- I am travelling under ground.
We're all packed together, we're pilchards in a can,
Man pressed against woman, woman up against man.
Most are checking smart-phones or staring at the roof,
When facing indignity folks like to stay aloof.
Way up on the surface the world is fresh and bright.
Down here we're all festering in artificial light.
Every afternoon's the same when I'm homeward bound:
It's no surprise I'm feeling low-- I am travelling under ground.
Standing to one side of me a guy with vacant grin:
I ask if he could shift his pack so it doesn't chafe my chin;
But he's wearing earbud headphones -- doesn't hear me bleat.
His head is rock and rolling and he doesn't miss a beat.
As we head towards the suburbs at last a seat comes free.
I can study other victims – at least from hip to knee.
Right in front of me I see a shapely tartan thigh...
No chance of conversation. Couldn't even catch her eye.
Way up on the surface the world is fresh and bright.
Down here we're all festering in artificial light.
Every afternoon's the same when I'm homeward bound:
It's no surprise I'm feeling low-- I am travelling under ground.