My soul is a train whistle
Floating through the night
Haunting, low and mournful
Invisible to sight
My heart is a seashell
Buried in the sand
Convoluted and lovely
But empty in your hand
My mind is aflutter
Like a moth to flame
Singing fragile wing tips on
The embers of my name
My hands are pure potential
Through which my soul can speak
And I pray that I will find
The answers that I seek
I weep in the darkness
Waiting for the train
To whistle for me back my soul
And take away the pain
I hear the train coming
Its whistle low and deep
Its soft tones do comfort me
And finally...
I can sleep
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