Outside the track is humming,
and I know before I hear it
the train is passing by.
Oh, I know I could go-
I could swing aboard, live
the hobo way; but no.
Is it the rumble of the monster
as it rushes on its way;
or are my fingers trembling
upon the windowsill?
Oh, I know, I know I couldn't go.
My life is here. I couldn't go.
your hand moved while you slept-
what did you dream?
did you stand in front of millions
making love to your guitar?
did you once again order me to
"get the other M50"?
or did you dream
pale-faced, dark-haired -
did you brush the hem of her dress
as she, laughing, turned away?
I whisper soap bubbles into the sky.
Cloud-obscured, the sun shone weakly.
These days are soon gone. I know
the songs the birds are sighing, the rapture of the wind,
the silence between the two. In silence,
soon, these days are twilight, then gone.