Last Train Home
By maddan
- 1803 reads
This is the last train home on a Sunday night
and we're all alone but for common flight.
And that aint laughter it's the rhythm of the tracks
And I only looked at you the once to see if you'd look back.
She's a dream in neon, a saver ticket rider,
With her walkman on and her raincoat beside her.
And I could stop forever, and wallow in her charms.
The destination's no attraction when it's nobody's arms.
It's only shadows outside the window, only echoes in my mind,
Of the ghosts I'm going back to and the ghosts I left behind.
Though it's cruel to run home with the fact still young,
The taste of failure still bitter on my tongue.
I want her for her absolution, her forgiveness and her love,
I want her to be my accomplice, my victim and my judge.
But I wouldn't dare approach her for fear she'd crumble into dust.
Her perfection, our connection, just a reflection of my lust.
I'm not going back for mercy, nor to hold out my hand,
I'm going back out of habit, I'm going back because I can.
But the inertia's unbearable in such sharp relief
Because the knowledge of a thing's a long way from the belief.
And this is the last train home on a Sunday night
And we're all alone, but we're all alright,
Because that wasn't laughter, just the rhythm of the tracks,
And it don't make no odds whether or not she looks back.
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