Days going by and absconding with the years
I watch my life slip away, carried by the will-of-the-wisps,
From my cold train seat where I perch on the edge of the filth
And look out the window marked ever with the prints of pressed up ears

I jot down my wild senseless thoughts,
As they tumble ‘round my aching skull,
On a napkin as if my notebooks are full
Of pretty ideas that matter lots

This one might just be special, oh how divine
This one will be the maker
Defeating every breaker
I tell myself the lie each and every time

But perhaps I may just feel the tickle
A dead silent whisper that a glimmer may be near
Though all good fortunes prove to be fickle
This may just last a while- if it ever gets here

I jot down the thought before it too slips away
I tuck the napkin out of sight but keep it in my mind
And pray, pray, pray- for their sake, not mine- I will find
That my work has paid off at last and this hope might stay

I’ve been working all day every day so, so hard
After all this time, it’s felt so long
Hard, hard work was my my bird’s sole song
I expected a window, what I got was a shard

That should teach me an ample lesson
About hoping for the best and thinking this might be real
Teach me to cry, to be tender, to open my heart, to feel
And hope my chest doesn’t start its compression

I still harbor some humanity yet
In my present ever weakened and strengthened state
I always manage to squeeze something new onto my plate
No matter how much I continue to fret

So I continue to record
Even as tears slide down my frosty countenance leaking
I jot down thoughts as they crawl through corners sneaking
The rest of the train looks bored