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