They flow on with the morning rush
don’t hear, don’t see, don’t feel
this human flood of vain concerns
uncouth, unclean , unreal

He travels on the metal road
and weaves on dreams unique
of ticklish clouds and purple pines
of papers that can speak

She comes and sits in front of him
and opens up her book
but words are smudges on a sheet
fordone, forborne, forsook

I watch them smile, I watch them talk
I watch them laugh and glow
I watch the sparks and flame and fire
I know where this will go

She’ll make him just a stepping stone
a mean to a selfish end
a milestone on the long road home
then make another friend

He’ll break and burn and tear and turn
He’ll think his life is gone
and then he’ll learn to live alone
let go, forget, move on

They’ll keep on flowing on again
to leave their pasts discreet
but all live on a single tale
recall, repent, repeat

6 May 2008 8:34 PM