It's lonely, you know,

Lying under the stars alone,

Watching the galaxies racing away

Like the cars careering past you on the B road near Macclesfield.

 

I wonder sometimes, why

Are they in such a rush all the time?

Not to tolerate the talk of a travelling stranger,

Not to think, perhaps, it might be fun.

 

Imagine the scene.

Music dribbles out of the speakers,

Syllables warbled in unison to the driver’s humming.

You can’t ask for it to be turned off.

You can’t ask the him to put out his cigarette,

The smoke leaving your eyes wet and itchy.

 

In the tedium, I sleep.

The radio and road blurring into one mewling drone

And then

For a brief moment, silence.

 

Awake, you can’t say how long you’ve been driving.

A landscape of dull greens and duller greys,

Streetlights and roadside cafes

Drapes over the window like a sheen of fog.

The radio’s off now. Only the road remains,

Rumbling in step with the driver’s breath.

 

But who would stop for a big feller all alone

They're threatened, I suppose, perhaps rightly so.

Still, lying on the hill at night,

I can't help thinking that our loneliness

Is why we so rejoice in finding love