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There is an old man standing waiting for a train.
I don't know why.
This station has been closed for years.
The benches cracked.
The pavement worn.
There is an old man waiting for a train.
I don't know where he would go.
The tracks are busted and rusted through.
But in his eyes it's all still sparkling and new.
There is an old man waiting for a train.
His ticket is hope for a place without pain.
He doesn't know.
That place is not one the living can go.
There is an old man waiting for a train.
His eyes still sparkling.
Or, is it the rain?