Finally the moment's Come and here we stand And all the words have gone Along with all the plans And though the hands Are surely moving on the clock For us, this moment Time itself has stopped
Our early-morning eyes Still feel a little sore And bodies sweetly aching From the night before I can feel The cold platform through my shoes There must be someting to be said But what's the use?
The wind picks up some paper Blows it past our feet We watch it grateful That our eyes don't have to meet A screaming whistle rips the air And takes away The last seconds we have shared
And still photographs The train begins its run And suddenly all the words I should have said had come Someone touches me And asks me for a light And wonders if I'm feeling quite alright And I say yes...
On another platform there's a train The same old scene is to be shot again The wind picks up some paper And with it I shall ride Out through the door marked exit Into the world ouside