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Who knew love was just
another rider without a name
a passing game
on your fast train?
All that time
you were pulling lines,
pushing buttons,
and finding rhymes
for thrill and chase.
You claimed to be pondering
the time and space
we'd soon be together.
Well, fair weather
was your aim
and bait 'n' switch your game.
What a long line
of broken cars
attached to your weaving frame.
Mr. Pullman with a knack
for pushing people off
moving trains.
Buried in their remains
lie pieces of your heart.
Blood darker than bark,
its not just your eyes
that have turned to stone.
You walk alone,
a bag
of bones.
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