i ride the morning train
people come and go
so many different faces
as the city passes by
i watch their tired eyes
journeys never made
broken dreams of leaving
fill the streets with dust
this is our final journey
it´s the end of the line
constantly in transit
we just want to go home
the rain that falls for weeks
painting pictures on the streets
twisted stars beneath my feet
i cruise the crowd
i could be one of them
going back and forth
between familiar places
as my blood turns cold
i watch with gypsy eyes
secrets never told
stolen years of yearning
turn their tears to dust
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by Dickinson