Print

No one's really watching from the 6.34 trainAs the evening breaks its coloured heart in vainI wanna hug these people to my chestAnd learn their middle namesAnd then point toward the sunset and explainHow the cold commission flatsBecome a canvas for the sunTo paint its work of massive genius for an hourAnd the city breathes a quiet sigh of sadness when it's doneAnd we all flick on pallid copies of its powerBut these words are pressedInto my chestThey're with my limited expressYesWhen you're not home, the house is emptyAnd it echoes like a churchAnd so I drop my bag and head out for a beerBut there are no familiar facesWhen I do a random search For all the usual suspects that hang out 'round hereSo I wander down past Westgarth and the view toward the creekAnd then I walk into a massive wall of rainLetras de cancionesAnd in the rush to Rushall stationA bright light comes from my rightAnd then forgetting what I'm doing, I catch the trainA minute's restFacing the westLet's not get too hard to impressYesDroplets hang like jewellery from a tired cyclone fenceAs the city's sodden street lights start to glowDownwind from the brewery there are two things making scentsSmell the jasmine and the brewer's yeast, thinking all good things will growAnd the ragged fledgling Wattle-birds all soaked down to their downWell, they still find time to bicker and to squawkAnd the train horns and the tram bells are the language of this townAnd my feet make conversation as I walkA minute's restFacing the westLet's not get too hard to impressYesThese words I pressInto your chestBare with my limited expressYes From Letras Mania