This train runs on newspaper crosswords and abandoned coffee pots.

In came sunlight, wetting the people, and no one got off at their stops.

They just keep on movin’, movin’, movin’, movin’, movin’, movin’ on.

This train runs on strangers, the strangest kind of kindness makes its way around.

If you lose your bookmark, I cannot guarantee that someday it’d be found.

You just keep on readin’, readin’, readin’, readin’, readin’, readin’ on.

This train ran into a crosswind, so windy that the squares turned parallelogram.

Heaven had given us its biggest breath and blew right from the diaphragm.

Still we keep on movin’, movin’, movin’, movin’, movin’, movin’ on.

(They just keep on movin’)