The InkwellThe train was never late,
not in our town.
Track fixed on a surface, brown.
Two lines with sidings
and stations along the way
Three clockwork engines
with wagons to play
Going down two tracks
from east to the west
passing through bridges
built by the best
And Engine made sound,
like the locos of the past
built by a craftsman,
you knew it would last
As you pulled all your cargo,
from city to th’sea
till mum or dad called up
it’s time for your tea!
Little Old Red is resting,
he’s done its best.
When the world was at war,
and bombs fell to the floor
These crafty bombs made fire
over concrete and grass
so firecrews met round him
to work they’d amass.
Putting out fires and
protecting from damage,
A meal th’crew would eat
was the most they could manage
And taking their cue,
from the wardens in black
the fire crews stopped fires
from the enemy attack
As Little Red emptied
eighty pools in a day
Keeping the danger
of fire at bay
But now that war’s over
the spotlight’s now on him
as he tells tales of the firemen
that isn’t quite so grim
The Inkwell