Traintime
Along the tracks the wires are humming
in bursts of code like
far-off drums.
Fathering the message:
further up the line
someone's shouting
down the passage of time.
The corridor restrains
the window,
no view without the eye
within.
Bold upon the threshold
but holding on the line
we're shouting down the
passage of time.
Relatives speak on the
phone, on the train,
talking before they have
thought to explain;
voices pitched wildly on
tracks in the night
can't pick the pace up...
oh let there be light!
How light becomes the
soul.
You know yourself the
centre of attention,
you see yourself the
locus of event.
I'm sorry if it's painful
quarrying the lime,
stage centre,
shouting down the passage of time.
The corridor retains its
shadows,
its secrets
compartmentalised.
Damping down on ambience,
clamp the teeth and
grind,
shouting down the passage
of time.
What's there to see or
make clear?
What's there to know
when the voice is right
here?
What's there to promise
or vow?
What's to believe, when
the time is right now?
Relatives spoke on the
phone, on the train,
talking before they had
sought to refrain;
voices projected, spears
in mid-flight
frozen forever.... oh let
there be light!
(music & lyrics by Peter Hammill)