At Suburban Railway StationsWaiting in the days of surf and printsAnd the second class are waitingThey've been waiting ever sinceThere are gardens in the backgroundAnd the line is bare and drearYet they wait beneath the signboardSneering second class wait hereI have waited in the winterIn the mornings dark and dampWhen the asphalt platformGlistened underneath that lonely lampAnd the wind among the poplarsAnd the wires that thread the airSeem to be forever snarlingSnarling second class wait hereOut beyond a further suburbNear a chimney stack aloneLay the works of grinder brothersWith a platform of their ownAnd I waited there and sufferedWaited there for many a daySlaved beneath a phantom signboardTelling all my hopes to stayOh, a man must feel revengefulFor a boyhood such as mineGod, I hate the very housesNear the workshop by the lineAnd the smell of railway stationsAnd the roar of running gearAnd the scornful sneering signboardSaying second class wait hereThere's a train with dead menDeath for driverThat is ever going pastThere will be no class compartmentsWhen it's all aboard at lastFor the long white jasper platformWith Anne Eden in the rearAnd there won't be any signboardSaying second class wait hereOh, no, there won't be any signboardSaying second class wait hereOh, there will be no business