I was street dove eyed
Another sleepless passenger
When the war between the lighthouse and the smog began.

Chimneys
dating back to Victorian times
Shipped their bakery smells to the salt and grease

The colossal banks of them
Victorious in their pursuit to have me step foot into
West Yorkshire's bell jar.

I scoured the trees for spider monkeys, clinging to the backs of their vampire boys
An alabastrine, dazzling climb

Which furthered my trek to the hardcastle crags;
The medieval houses cheering me on in their church pew rows.

Where the hill went up and up and up, so much that the bus was about to tip - on the edge of the world I was.

The twilight town, still green from September, and to think I was drafted to fight for the sea
When Hebden Bridge is where I want to be.