The derisive charm of a train that never stops,
it allways stays with me.
Orange fields, open moons,
A country open wide,
Through a window,
Before the viscous sea wild.
Far away, underneath a thunderous sky,
That builds rolls and falls beneath volcanoes,
Into August raindrops, shining rails
That run away from the windowsill.
Honesty lost in the trees,
Rolling east into the sunrise,
Awake from a forgetting dream.
Of the touch, the meaning,
Of a share premenition,
The moon, the stars, the horizon, the sun.
That rises into a bloodshot watery sky,
Tired of a journey, that’s forgotten its concept of time.