Anxious waiting for my absent train home
I cannot stomach time wasting abroad,
Sitting beneath the train station's high dome,
Waiting for a sign from a man named God.
Shunning silent stay I begin to plod
Out of the empty lobby I make my way,
Past sullen turnstiles where many have trod,
Into frozen air with gold sun's ray
Same sun that people'd kneel before and pray.
And I chose this walk alone and wand'ring
In this day that is but only one day,
In this world that was in need of laund'ring
It's clean, washed, hung, dried and nothing means more t'me
Than this chance t'walk and be endlessly free.
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