I ride the morning train; eople come and go. So many different faces as the city pa**es by. I watch their tired eyes; journeys never made. Broken dreams of leaving fill the streets with dust. This is our final journey; it's the end of the line. Constantly in transit, we just want to go home. The rain that falls for weeks, painting pictures on the streets, Twisted stars beneath my feet, I cruise the crowd. I could be one of them, going back and forth, Between familiar places, as my blood turns cold. I watch with gypsy eyes: secrets never told. Stolen years of yearning turn their tears to dust. This is our final journey; it's the end of the line. Constantly in transit, we just want to go home. The rain that falls for weeks, painting pictures on the streets, Twisted stars beneath my feet, I cruise the crowd. The rain that falls for weeks, painting pictures on the streets, Twisted stars beneath my feet, I cruise the crowd. The rain that falls for weeks, painting pictures on the streets, Twisted stars beneath my feet, I cruise the crowd.