The rail...the train roaring, bringing your voice in the morning. The rail...the train...the roar and your voice again.
It´s you again, but I can´t see you, this moment
There not yet. There will
One, two, three...the platform...dirty, grey, rough, empty...no one, no life.
I squeeze my eyes tightly, in a rage
I am now in Shepherds Bush, the wagon door is open
I squeeze my eyes furiously, I do not want to look
My heart outside the wagon, still beating on the ground.
Dirty, grey, rough, empty ground.
I am at Shepherds´s Bush, at this moment.