Last week a train passed by,

and I wanted to run and meet it.

Scratched hands on steel

and stares;

whatever it takes to get me away;

whatever it demands.



Streets are for getting by;

I've got to get out:

of the story I'm trying to make.

I need a life to take me in.

This is where I begin.



Will you be gone with me?

You're always on the way;

on the tracks I'm making mine in my mind,

and more, in the real world, in every moment from now on.



Will you be there?

To take my scratched hand?

Running along your long shot,

hot from the chase;

whatever it takes to be out with me

whatever it demands.


Whatever your move makes.

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