There is a train, mystic and strange.

It never stops to turn or change.

It’s big and strong, looks like a chain,

People like me are riding this train.

It moves us from dusk into the night,

filled with sorrows and pale blue light.

I was born there, on this speedy train;

nothing seems real except all this pain.

Thousands are there, they come, and they go,

They live, and they die without even know.

Riding together, not knowing where;

nothing seems real except much despair.

Where are we going? Where is this place?

Is there a driver to show us his face?

This train is going without intent; 

we will be going wherever it went.

I heard a traveler who told me so;

our stop is near, is all we know.

He told me to look at the window out. 

The view was lovely, without a doubt.

I am so tired of living with pain,

never again I will ride this train.

11/2015

Haloo