We left the bar, our train to meet,
And hurried down the chilly street;
The carriages were all delayed;
We wondered if we should have stayed.

The platform cold, the neon bright,
A bitter wind swept through the night,
And while we cursed the frozen track,
The pub behind still called us back.

We dreamed of turning round once more,
To find the warmth beyond that door;
But then our train arrived at last;
We boarded as the wish slipped past.