STATION

I can’t believe I’m sitting in this station
The coffee’s burnt and the Danishes are stale
There hasn’t been a train through here in ages
Not since the days we rode in horse drawn stages

The station master picks up the receiver
He says “Uh-huh” and then he hangs it up
He writes down something glancing at the clock
Then he puts two rolls of quarters in a sock

The custodian is mopping all the tiles
Then he stops to pick his nose and laugh
There’ll come a time when he will put his mop down
When riches start to trickle from the top down

There’s a baby carriage over in the corner
And in it is an old wind-up Victrola
Put the needle to the grooves and you’ll hear wonders
A voice that whispers just before it thunders

The Devil will not drive that locomotive
And the train will not deliver us to hell
We have all the time we need for pious weeping
Fine tuning all the promises we’re keeping

I’m sitting in this station with my baggage
With 50 years of memories in my brain
With no hope of ever making sense of nothing
Always making nothing out of something
Waiting at the station for a train