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EYES FROM A TRAIN 2

Out of the window
two lines on my left
Now three, now four

An old rail tanker, all on its own
it’s dirty and grim and happy
So why does that deserve so much
early morning aloneness
Areas of cracked up concrete

It is the people who intrude on everyone
who are intruded on by others
Before the rise of the sun
who could be so warm and friendly
In real life.

But in the morning they are corpses
that travel this way
In this way of living
no other they’ll know
Because, for them it has become so instinctive
to slide up the rail.

To me the living has already gone stale
not much longer will I have to endure
This ailment they have, that has such a rare cure.