A traveler named I then arrived,
To where men had always been.
But the end of the day had then been different from all before;
For not a soul of the many that came had then not been present.
For the trail to enlightenment that would then have been begun.
But wait and tell me
Tell me why it doesn’t come
For the only some who was calm
Time flowed down its river an inch or so
From the time that supposed to bring on
That grand majestic vehicle that rains fame
Oh it is called the train, oh train, train, train
And now the train doth not come to this land
Land famed the waste land as Eliot before done
And then in this carnival of rust I saw, I saw
I saw a barn, barn owl as it is called then
Noise that it had made of the screech
A sign that the train was on reach
Oh! Then the train finally came
Rust, blood and sweat made
The train came and stopped slow and low and gates of it were opened
Not a soul inside had travelled back here and I was the only one to go
To the promised land of pigeons as called and so I jumped to it inside
An hour or so had then went by in the darkened place there by my side and it moved, moved, moved
But then again the barn sound heard did I and shh and chhh and bump and beep and a loud THUMP
It stopped, it all stopped and I on the floor and stream of my life from my hand flowed; all stopped
And so I left the damaged train on foot, blood all over my boot, running not to make my body food
I ran, I ran, I ran and ran, time had so followed but slowed until all I could see had been turned to fog
I could see no more and I cried but then in front came a man with lamp; his face hid with mystery so
Asked who he was and said he in triumph ‘Shepherd of fire’ and so was he gone; lamp on me front
I carried the lamp and the fog was gone, path none else but one and I was again on foot and run