Once there were trains in my life
and there was a station where wayfarers boarded
the 3:15 to Babylon for home.

Today my memories are shadows and raindrops
are the tears of native gods that men no longer
worship

Love is a reflection that I can no longer see
and i stumble the ruins clutching a tin cup
I can hear the coins clatter as they are tossed
my way and I mumble my thanks like a prayer

I died without pleasure on a cross of stone
and men have forgotten me
but that is how it was meant to be
The dead who do not die become shadows
like a cancer spreading across the gallows