the first thing you see
is the train station
cafe workers poppin umbrellas
suits and ties and drizzling rain
trains every three minutes
there's no reason to run
middle class delusions served by working class cool
no-one buys the newspaper
but a few buy buzz in a can
buses move through the fog
like machines
cigarette smokers, they're there
if you look close enough
out on the fringes
and half of them are high school students
mothers in pajamas
dropping their kids off
you know, because it's raining
thoughts are dulled
heads bowed in prayer
receiving the message
absorbing the song
playing the game
everyone is on their telephone
but no-one is saying a word
strange times in the third carriage
blockbuster novels
that change like the seasons
miles davis in my ears
and only now it's time to work
yeah, we push through
yeah, we get paid well
yeah, we got the trenchcoats
some of these people buy thirty dollar lunches
some make some sandwiches from home
we got it all
while all that's happening
there are birds movin around
on a sick day you'll see them
you'll see the sun hit your lounge-room
in a way you never knew it could
the kids in the preschool down the road
make as much noise as they like
possums sleep in the roofs of empty houses
lazy, sleepy security
pensioners go shopping
and real estate agents drive the streets
posties protect the streets
and plants grow in peace
until the time comes when the kids are released
some had parents waiting for them at the gate
some don't
they walk their way home
talking, or thinking silently to themselves
obliviously developing the paths their lives are going to take
the path ends at quarter to five
spilling out of buildings
like a hole in a bucket
thoughts of dinner
some will have already organised
some will organise on their way
some won't at all
the supermarkets are invaded
swiped of capsicans and onions
the local pizza and fish and chips
are heisted homewards
toddlers wait with their mothers at the train station
waiting for daddy to step off the train
school girls loiter
assuming the imaginations they've caught
the lonesome carry six-packs of beer
and the dusk falls for them
televisions wake up
like a nocturnal mental patients
and buzz an hypnotic drone
that clears their minds
some still read in the shadows
they're in the spare rooms
pajama clad children run and laugh themselves to sleep
a strange, unsure, uncontrollable laughter only children know
empty wine glasses are taken to the sink
yawns speak louder than words
final words are shared through foaming toothpaste
until there is nothing but breathing
nothing but breath
the last thing you'll see
is the headlights of cars
blinding yellow
like a guiding light to nowhere
waiting for the lights to change
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