Letra de Prospects
A train ride' til Tuesday A platform far away Scarlet shades of evening Move clouds to greyThe waking, ariving The dirty station where He passes crowds of people Who don't see him thereHe's a desert island man Foreign man who's cast away Stranded in this home from home From his family far awayHome This is it This is it, is this my heart?Miss you with all my heart This is not Is this not my home?One shoe-laced cardboard suitcase One passport from the Queen One room for a light bulb Where no one's beenSticks and stones, my old bones Not like 1954 Who may likely find But not anymoreThe city room, where is my room? Nothing left to say But in the dark, he thinks of home far awayHome Well, this is it This is it, is this my heart?I miss you with all my heart This is not Is this not my home?I feel cold, getting old More than the climate's change Stranded on this island The rate of exchangeHere's a desert island room For a man who's cast-away Today he will not be at work There is no work anywayHow is it when you feel it? Do you wonder what gets you down? You're looking in the windows When you walk this town