1 am in Morgantown

It's 1 am in Morgantown

and the music has faded into the night.

The skies are grey with the clouds bearing rain

that tastes sour, feeding fog that smells like

the 4th of July.

I can hear the train in the distance

going from somewhere to somewhere,

but leaving me behind to wonder where somewhere is

and why I never seem to be on that train as I wait,

wait for something.

Everywhere is somewhere.

Everything is something. Everyday is, well, everyday

as the roads keep doing their jobs, taking people

to where they want to go, even as they forget their dreams.

Dreams are something else.

It's 1 am in Morgantown

and the music has faded into the night.

The skies are grey with the clouds bearing rain

that tastes sour, feeding fog that smells like

the 4th of July.