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Big Big Train
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Blue Silver Red
They focused on the hill
a tower loomed in near space
other things seemed out of phase.
Sure, Jan and Tom had faith,
how persuasive an ideal.
Everything to everyone.
Waiting for the moment to come.
And every waking hour is the waiting that's done.
Writing, thinking and building of expectations
meetings weekends, melting of constellations.
And time is out of time and is turning.
Putting people into spaces
taking others out of time.
The savant wants for saving now.
She's waiting for someone to run
and every waking hour is the waiting that's done.
Distant and distance, in a pivotal moment broken.
For now it's done caring and is ready to
go on home.
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And time is out of time. And is turning.
'So sorry, does it matter anymore?'
Her movement, charged with wonder,
the wonder is she's there at all. 'So sorry.'
The tower looms unreal,
someone somewhere calling
running fast on empty words
to the edge of the known world.
Some may be afraid, maybe take the easy way
turn and face the rage.
So 'sorry' counts for nothing in the end.
No, it never really mattered
(but the meaning lies between the words.)
Hidden deep within words.
And time is out of time…and is lost.
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