Steam Up Camden Bank

Intro

Verse 1

The whistle splits the smoggy air, a ghost in Euston’s gloom,

The regulator’s opened wide to seal a fireman’s doom.

Ten coaches of the Royal Scot, a heavy, swaying chain,

And six-foot drivers start to spin beneath the drizzling rain.

The platform’s gone, the walls close in, the sky is turning grey,

As Camden Bank begins to bite and steal the steam away.

Chorus

It’s a slog, it’s a grind, it’s a one-in-seventy fight,

With the firebox door a-glowing like a demon in the night!

The exhaust is hitting bridges with a crack like a cannon shell,

We’re climbing out of Euston on a ladder straight to hell!

Hear the rhythm of the iron—thump-thump, thump-thump—slow and deep,

While the sleepers groan and shudder as the Camden giants creep.

Verse 2

A Royal Scot is screaming, her safety valves are tight,

Sand is hitting greasy rails to win the traction fight.

The "Banker" hits us in the rear, a blunt and soot-stained nose,

To push us past the signal box where the heavy traffic flows.

The "Crabs" are scuttling sideways and the "Compounds" start to wheeze,

There ain’t no room for stalling here, and no such thing as ease.

Verse 3

The fireman’s back is breaking as he feeds the hungry grate,

Twice the coal for every mile to move this heavy weight.

The "George the Fifths" are panting, the "Claughtons" lose their stride,

With every piston stroke a prayer, and nowhere left to hide.

The brickwork of the cutting walls is dripping black with soot,

As the driver feels the engine buck beneath his heavy foot.

Bridge

Smoke like a solid pillar, blacking out the Chalk Farm sun,

The coal is moving faster than the clock can ever run.

The driver’s got his head out, squinting through the grit and glare,

Praying that the pressure stays while there's thunder in the air!

Verse 4

We pass the Shed at Camden, where the iron sisters wait,

To watch us battle gravity and wrestle with our fate.

The steam is thick as cotton wool, the pistons scream in pain,

Until the summit levels out and breaks the heavy strain.

The regulator closes down, the frantic pounding dies,

We’ve traded London’s valley for the open Northern skies.

Chorus

It’s a slog, it’s a grind, it’s a one-in-seventy fight,

With the firebox door a-glowing like a demon in the night!

The exhaust is hitting bridges with a crack like a cannon shell,

We’re climbing out of Euston on a ladder straight to hell!

Outro

The gradient eases... the pace begins to rise,

We’ve conquered Camden’s shoulder under soot-encrusted skies.

The rhythm levels out now, a steady, rolling roar,

But the Bank is waiting back there... hungry for some more.