Another day, it's poetry
Write it, spill my heart out to her - but I'm no writer
Just bad rhymes and some confused sentiment
It was love, she's done with me
I'm no good here in this world to no one,
I watch the window
Count cars, not a new thought in my head

And I sold my hopes to closing doors
Left to die in the snow, getting old and getting bored
I color inside the lines of days with blue
Since we drove up to Bunker Hill and you
Said "I can't take a winter one more year
If I don't leave now I'll die right here"
You got aboard on a train headed no place
Took a seat by yourself - we all need space
Passing towns with no names, no lit streets
From wet and cold to dry and heat

Dozing off, nest in your arm
Rumbling through desert night, cling your overnight bag
Train jerks, voices float, the engine wails
When the station emptied out I dragged myself down to
Franklin Ave where the sleet it hit me
New dreams resting on some old street rails