CANTICUM 7 TRAIN Mayfield

It was on the train to Mayfield

that celebrated Birthdays,

conductors standing straight and tall,

and all the the rolling earth.

There we stood and heard the choir

and saw the people dancing.

I said, let's take the next stop.

You nodded absently.

So we got off in Hiding.

Walked the streets together.

A light rain was falling.

And the prophets on the street corners

were calling out your name.

Well, the house was cold and dark but open,

with crosses made of birch and twine,

hanging above our bed

with the covers kicked away,

revealing you to me

and now my thoughts are drifting,

remembering a memory

and what you asked of me:

Have you made up your mind?

I've already decided.

I'm staying here in Hiding

until I can really get away.

And I can't hear you, Mary Ann.

And I am dreaming, Mary Ann.

The broken shutter's swinging

woke me up the next morning.

Then I heard you singing

from underneath your pillow.

Outside the sun was shining

with such intensity

that we took our time awakening

to say our good-byes.

And at the Station we stood apart,

afraid of retribution.

Here's the Lie and here's the Sign

that this will last forever.

And I watched you from the window. 

I'm going on to Mayfield, Mary Ann.

I am leaving, Mary Ann.