The night is young,
the birds are asleep.
And the cats, silly cats, they're drunk on blood again
He sat trying,
she sat waiting,
yet the more he tried the more he failed.
She didn't want to try anymore.
To reach,
to teach,
to show how to love her.
She just wanted it to be right,
to be easy and free.
Like the drunk cats
and the lost sheep,
and the coyotes in the hills
her mind once the thief.
She stand there majestic,
beaten,
like a dog.
Forever is a long time
and a second even worse,
for love and for pain and long car trips to the north.
Coffee shops and tea rooms are filled with the host.
The crowd, washed masses,
who fell to her gaze and mind, body and soul.
The train ride is coming,
or has it already passed?
Is the next train coming?
At what hour
and when.
The freeways are almost empty,
the bars around hear are always full
of the dregs of the heart,
the killers, the pimps
the little run-away girls with wide staring eyes
and legs thrust open for a room with a view
over dumpsters, bums and broken bottles
used needles and paper trash.
So the train is coming,
you call for it ma'am and it will appear.
I can hear it in the distance,
a lone whistle blown
crying out over the tree tops and houses
under that thin moon
that revolves around you.