If all the weary passengers I’m seeing
Were really ever passengers to places I could go
I wonder if they’d see me as a person merely fleeing
From the places they were heading
Or the ones they’re merely dreading
Or to “trust me, when you see it, you’ll know”

In truth, it’s been a while since a person
Was passing any other way but where I couldn’t see
And maybe that’s the symptom of the things that only worsen
When the sun is never setting
And the world keeps on forgetting
That I don’t remember much of them or them so much of me

I tell myself, “the rain is going nowhere”
And chase it with a cup that never learned to hold a drink
Where mountains, I can see, but never once is any snow there
But I guess that doesn’t matter
If the cups we carry shatter
And the steps, though moving forward, always sink

But maybe it’s a tempest I’m deserving
And endlessly behind it, I’ll continue just to crawl
Until I can convince myself I’m hopefully observing
That the storm, in tired leaving
From me took no disbelieving
When the storm, before it came,
Or even whispered there was rain
It promised nothing but in passing, took it all