|
In a deserted dirty station. |
|
A passenger is in wait. |
|
He has a ticket for the last train. |
|
The trip is not so long. |
|
A dance on the edge of a bridge that was left uncompleted. |
|
Last stop to nowhere. |
|
An old brown hat upon his head fails to block the liar sun. |
|
His cloth is the yellow dust, he looks so tired. |
|
The trip is not so long. |
|
A dance on the edge of a bridge that was left uncompleted. |
|
One more glimpse at his silver clock. |
|
Its white disc is almost liquid. |
|
The twelve numbers are something distant. |
|
The trip is not so long. |
|
A dance on the edge of a bridge that was left uncompleted. |
|
Last stop to nowhere. |
|
His life, his memories will be left back. |
|
Nothing to carry on this journey. |
|
There are no luggages aside him. |
|
The train has arrived as a shadow at night |
|
And its whistle is giving the signal. |
|
Last stop to nowhere. |
|
In a deserted, dirty station. |
|
A passenger is in wait. |
|
He has a ticket for the last train. |
|
The trip is not so long. |
|
A dance on the edge of a bridge that was left uncompleted. |
|
Last stop to nowhere. |
