He likes to have the morning paper's crossword solved
Words go up
words come down
fonnrards
backwards
twisted 'round.
He grabs a pile of letters from a small suitcase
Disappears into an office
it's another working day.
And his thoughts are full of strangers
corridors of naked lights.
And his mind once full of reason
Now there's more than meets the eye.
Now a stranger's face he carries with him.
He likes a bit of reading on the subway home
A distant radio's whistling tunes that nobody knows.
At home a house awaits him
he unlocks the door
Thinking: once there was a sea here
but there never was a door.
And his thoughts are full of strangers
and his eyes too numb to see.
And nothing that he knows of
and nowhere where he's been
Won't ever quite like this.
And his thoughts are full of strangers
Corridors of naked lights. . . .
And at heart he's full of strangers
Dodging on his train of thought.
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