she closes her eyes and makes a wish
and plunges into the night
swallowed by the vastness of a world
which for her holds no light
she don’t know if she’ll make it
to a place that she can finally call home
she only knows that home is not here
so she sets out all alone
to find a resting place, a haven,
a place where she can sleep
a place to shield her from the chaos,
from the killers in her dreams
the whistle of a train
has always been her favorite sound
lulling her to sleep,
passing countless, nameless towns
the humming of the tracks
at the approach of her next train
to her is like a mother’s voice
calling through a dream

she’s searching
but she doesn’t know for what or even why
people come and people go
but she barely even sees them passing by
a shiny, silver womb
keeps her safe and clean and dry
with haunted eyes she stares
into the darkness rolling by
it offers her some solace
but more a drug than an embrace
she can’t go on much further,
she needs some kind of resting place
the whistle of a train
has always been her favorite sound
lulling her to sleep,
passing countless, nameless towns
the humming of the tracks
at the approach of her next train
to her is like a mother’s voice
calling through a dream

maybe if she sees salvation
she’ll reach out her hand
or maybe she’ll just wish and long and hope
and miss her chance

the whistle of a train calling through a dream
calling, calling, calling through a dream…

Posted Tuesday, March 29th 2005