Platform signs sit swinging in the station
Old men sit in their seats
Burning sun bearing down on the people with hair all wet from the heat
Speeding past the bodies out the window, men straighten their ties
All the seats of motion-sick children put fear into adult eyes
It's a long long way to drive, before these people find a way in which to keep the truth alive
They won't sleep 'til, they know, their aching feet are home
Grinding wheels hit friction with the steel
The carriage groans with the weight
Of people dying to get up from their tables and run head-first through the gate
Past the cabs and half-expectant buses, mothers smoking inside
The cars that take them home until another solitary weekday ride
It's a long long way to drive, before these people find a way in which to keep the truth alive
They won't sleep 'til, they know, their aching feet are home