Day in
day out
he sits
alone
no one cares
who he is
were he lives
or how old he is
he sits and waits
for whom no person shall
know
for he sits in silence
no one dares approach him
he is tired
he is the station man
in his silence
he sings
daring them to question him
the flocks who pass by
the ones who are
far too busy
to even offer a simple
Hello
his mouth
doth not betray
a hint of any
happiness
any former life
on which he is
reflecting
any sorrow
by which he hides
among a mask of secrecy
from the flocks
of minds
that pass him by
with not even
a second thought
They laugh
they cry
he sees them all
but they do not
see him
he hides
in obsqurity
he wallows
in invisibility
he sings in silence
for he is
the station man
a sorrowful soul
a pitiful old man
and yet he is there
day in
day out
he is
the station man