i take the train station to station its one of my few luxuries besides my last sip of coffee and eyeing the man across from me he is lost lost in the papaer hes chasing some trivial pursuit some propaganda for your honey suckle dreams that somehow grasp the day i get off take a step step stop look around i can t find the time and theres a man holding court int he market and i can t conjure up a dime his cheeks are kissed with mid december chill like a gnome planted firmly in the garden and then the sky puts on her make up shes in her evening gown she coyly accepts the city lights and wears them in her crown laying in bed i can t hear the side streets ive blocked the record playing though its singing just for me and before drifting into sleep i hear kyra say is that why people think life is beautiful because they know that it ends 