Newby Filby, a bloke named Jon

Just seen him on the forum, he’s not been here long

Let’s see what he says as time goes on

We’ll count how many times he goes wrong

There’s not too much about him on his profile

I guess that we would know him by his smile

Wearing an old tee shirt he’s had a while

But if he saw Timestar, he’d run a mile

So after the challenge to write this ode

He does know that him I may always goad

A little light humour, but no grudge I hold

As I may see him when ATF's on the road

It was a cold night on the platform

Waiting for a chance to see the pilgrim perform

The metal chairs with ice on at York station

Left my legs in suspended animation

Memories flooding in of distant places

Looking at the time stars in my eyes

Being stuck in Paris was just a dream

While trains go by in reds and green

Looking for something to hold on to

Your hats pulled down to be incognito

Stranger things happen as you see him running

Through the streets at night while the winds still blowing

If you’re one of the lonely people reading

Or sitting on the platforms, the pigeons feeding

The old and fat and ugly vermin

Waiting for some company you are yearning

Looking up I close my eyes tightly

The sun, like a laser shining brightly

Looking for comfort I glance over

And see a room and feel quite sober

The waiting room has a rusty lock

Wood floorboards echo with heels that knock

After the fire sits a girl called Wendy

A brief encounter if is she is friendly

There you are Zippy this is just for you

Just one more phrase that I must do

Oh oh oh and oh oh oh

Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh