I am always here and never there,
So tired of the day to day.

I keep waiting for the moment we can jump on a train,
Like the ones I hear calling from my bedroom window.
I like to imagine they are going to far off distant lands,
But I doubt they'll go past Cincinnati.

I keep trying to make something beautiful out of something ugly
And I guess there's some sort of metaphor there.
Well when the train finally blows the whistle,
Tell me who still cares.