At the Station

I’m sitting here waiting, where everyone’s waiting
Some of them loving and some of them hating
And I’m sitting here staring at everyone staring
Some of them indifferent and some of them caring

And there’s always someone that won’t fit the mold
Someone that will spend tonight out in the cold
And there’s always someone with more money than sense
Someone that’s walking while someone else sits on the fence

And this place is like home, if home’s a lonely place
Where there’s too many reflections in the mirror for me to know my own face
With a suitcase full of clothes to change my persona
The seasonal fashion show of a down and out loner

Name the place, pick a face, fake a conversation
Forget about the weather while you’re inside the station
With the scents and the sights of humanity rushing
Bodies and bags, pushing, pulling and crushing

And there’s a ten dollar note forgotten on the floor
Picked up by another, it’s not lonely anymore
Unlike the people, slouched tiredly against dirty walls
Excluding those taking those seemingly endless phone calls

Where the noise is a rush, and they’re talking too loud
Projecting their conversation out into the crowd
And sometimes it’s funny and sometimes it wrong
But this is the crowd and the noise, their disjointed song

‘Cause life is often a station full of people and noise
With ten dollar notes picked up, and dropped like toys
And we’re all waiting for something or someone to come
While someone’s rifling through the bin for someone’s discarded lunch

And sometimes it feels like we’re all waiting for life
Waiting for boredom or waiting for strife
We’re all waiting for love and waiting for hate
Waiting for bedtime so we can stay up late

We’re so close we’re touching, but you’re so far away
Caught up in the scenes of your own private play
So I’ll sit here waiting, with everyone waiting
And we can pretend like this place isn’t grating

Indie Adams 2012