A Commuter's Love-Song
(With my sincere apologies to John Betjeman)
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The M25, the M 25,
Loath'd and travelled by all that's alive,
With tailbacks and switchbacks, I just want to be free,
Alone in your fast lane - you against me!
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Eight -thirty, eight forty oh! I just might be late,
The speed of a tortoise, it must be my fate,
With scarcely a ticking, time just does a jive,
I can't speak of your dreadfulness, M25.
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The M25, the M25,
How mad I am, sad I am, pray just to drive,
The route that I have is a route to depress,
And my options of travel, well they just get less.
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Your madness astounds me, it's faster to walk,
As I drive past the Lakeside, all Essex and talk,
So cool is the van driver letting us in,
To the gap in the traffic 'twixt the lorry and him.
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The scent of the kerosene, sound of the planes,
The view from my dashboard of Heathrow and trains,
As I try to turn off, I find I can't fly,
For we dance stuck to tarmac, my engine and I.
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On the floor of your bedrock lie gravel and stones,
And the fast moving kids clutch their new mobile phones,
And westering, questioning the sun it does dive,
Off your high level gantries, my M25.
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Police cars are rushing, blue lights are ahead,
The vision of timeliness, painfully dead,
My sweet, I am stuck in this 3 mile long queue,
And there on the shoulder, a concerto in blue.
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By roads "not adopted" I truly desire,
To drive to my work and return to my fire,
Into rivers of steel instead I do run,
And mushrooming suburbs that don't see the sun.
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The M25, the M25,
I can see from my car seat the dance to survive,
The full Surrey sections, my radio told,
It's now strongly advised to get off the road.
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Around us are Rovers and cars of all type,
Above us flying eyes of radio hype,
And here on my right is the car in my dream,
In a space that is moving whilst I sit and scream.
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And the scent of the road, and the signs never seen,
And the ominous, ominous walking man dream,
I sit in my car not to arrive,
And now I'm engaged to the M25.
©Keith Murphy