Pulp

Just behind the station, before you reach the traffic island, a river runs thru' a concrete channel.
I took you there once; i think it was after the leadmill.
The water was dirty & smelt of industrialisation
Little mesters coughing their lungs up & globules the colour of tomato ketchup.
But it flows. yeah, it flows.
Underneath the city thru' dirty brickwork conduits
Connecting white witches on the moor with pre-raphaelites down in broomhall.
Beneath the old trebor factory that burnt down in the early seventies.
Leaving an antiquated sweet-shop smell & caverns of nougat & caramel.
Nougat. yeah, nougat & caramel.
And the river flows on.
Yeah, the river flows on beneath pudgy fifteen-year olds addicted to coffee whitener
And it finally comes above ground again at forge dam: the place where we first met.
I went there again for old time's sake
Hoping to find the child's toy horse ride that played such a ridiculously tragic tune.
It was still there - but none of the kids seemed interested in riding on it.
And the cafe was still there too
The same press-in plastic letters on the price list & scuffed formica-top tables.
I sat as close as possible to the seat where i'd met you that autumn afternoon.
And then, after what seemed like hours of thinking about it
I finally took your face in my hands & i kissed you for the first time
And a feeling like electricity flowed thru' my whole body.
And i immediately knew that i'd entered a completely different world.
And all the time, in the background, the sound of that ridiculously heartbreaking child's ride outside.
At the other end of town the river flows underneath an old railway viaduct
I went there with you once - except you were somebody else -