I am standing on a station platform
|
enjoying the evening sun
|
How it shines on the tracks
|
and on the backs
|
of other people waiting
|
|
In my mind's eye
|
I suddenly become one of the small summer birds
|
that are dipping and swooping so freely
|
under the evening sun
|
|
The trees look so different from above
|
Not so solid not so tall
|
It doesn't matter
|
where in the world I am
|
under the evening sun
|
|
I see everything around me
|
|
The castle-like people
|
waiting for trains
|
standing with faces too far from their brains
|
|
I see everything around me
|
|
All at once as if from nowhere
|
A train is coming to a standstill
|
Opening doors and I am once more
|
among my fellow travelers
|
|
We climb aboard
|
to rattle underground
|
avoiding each other's eyes
|
As I cling to a handrail above me
|
I suddenly realize
|
it doesn't matter
|
where in the world I am
|
under the evening sun
|
|
-----------------
|
Under The Evening Sun
|
| Neil Innes |
