In they pour, through town
they flow
By barge or bus to site they
go
Like bees they swarm to
music honey
Praying for some weather
sunny
Fervour peaks as they reach
the gate
Not dampened by a little
wait
And then they're in, the
cider flowing
Which band? Which stage? Excitement
growing
By four the drink is kicking
in
Their faces fixed, a
constant grin
By nine, the music's loud
and raw
The crowd is bouncing, cries
for more
Then first day over, back to
camp
To smelly loos, and beds so
damp
And as the days meld into
one
The edge is taken off the
fun
Still feeling great, but
slightly wired
Was once euphoric, now is
tired
Then time is up and Monday
comes
The wanderers longing for
their homes
In Wellies toddle, with
bags, and tent
With grubby clothes, unholy
scent
The crowd secedes to station
slow
Exhausted, but with happy
glow
Leaving locals, slightly
bitter
To clean the mess and tidy
litter
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