It’s hard out there for everybody

You called it the train
Like it’s this majestic stagecoach with velveteen covered seats and a conductor in a cap not an underfunded mass transit shuttling sweaty masses with every half mile lurch
And I wonder why I see everything for what it is and not what it could be and if this dark cloud will ever just rain and release what’s been weighing me down all these years and cleanse the oil that’s piled on my face and rinse the dust tangled in my hair
And when the sky’s cleared the sun will brighten up and the dirt will be earth and the noise will be music and the people will still be terrible but it won’t bother me
And I’ll stop scowling and start smiling and maybe we’ll fall in love again
Until the clouds roll in and the train’s off schedule and I’m walking alone down city grates and the bum asks for a dollar and I say… “It’s hard out there for everybody.”

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