Eighteen hours
On a southbound train
Neath' the storming clouds
And petty thieves.

Midnight moon howls as
The conductor reels this thoughts
To the ticket takers who bought
A one way down.

A river passes,
The coal lashes.
Passengers sip their drinks,
Thinking there is no better way
To travel.

Ten coins on the banister
Rattle silver metallic, echoing into
The coated mans quarters.
After this ride, there is no need
To go any further.

The barman pours the red wigged lady
A drink of peppermint and green.
"Tis' the season for love," he says, "And tranquility."
She grins, thinking on her past sins effortlessly.

Bending through the colossal mountains,
Whizzing by naked children playing in fountains,
The conductor feels for once like a sea captain,
Torrents of earth his waves, his tide, his foes.

Not many more hours till we get there.
Not many more minutes till we arrive.
I don't know how much longer I can ride,
Until I'm gonna' have to choose a side.

The coal is painted black silver.
He watches the sliver of life pass by,
Like light through the crack of a doorway.
"You had to leave," I say, "Because
You needed to start doing things your way."

Lace and croissants is all she's got.
White wine and a chicken in a ***.
Not much compassion in these hills.
Little love when one's got so little to give.

A bright star directs us to deaths gate.
Two silhouetted scythes buzz if electric.
Doves sit perched along the top of gravestones,
As senorita cries out, "Mi amor! Yo quiero mi amor!"

Nod to the stars. They will nod back.
Escape to the night. He will take you.
Forfeit the day. She will let you win.
See the horizon. There is no illusion,

Unless you wish it.