state offices of nothing

the train goes by every day at the same hour.
everytime you leave the station you think,
damn i should take a picture of that sunset,
but you never do.

you arrive always at the same hour.
you watch the light outside the windows and
hopelessly sprawl yourself
in the hope you'll find something better in lost sleep.

the same people fill the same chairs every day.
we all arrive at the same hours.
and i think,
damn i should talk to that guy.

the sun goes up,
and then it goes down,
your shoes are still on,
revolution seems so old.

then it's just you,
this absent moon
and the never ending question of
how things will stay the same.

then it's a question of how
empty the spaces are left.
even this loneliness is so familiar,
it seems like hell.

turbulent skies worthy of pictures are
no longer admirable and those pale blue eyes
are no longer full of life
and i see you fall asleep at the desk and think
should i do something to change?

but then i never do.