At night, in vain,

The clock white's face ticks for me,

I cannot hear while my soul

On many paths still treads.

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Still wanderer

Still vagabond,

Searching for a way to come back,

To the mind that sired them

In the early hours of the morning.

A single light stands watch

And rushes through the night,

Riding along the morning express

Fuelled by the blazing coals,

In the engine's bowels.

The clock's white face still smiles,

As the train finally stops,

The wheeling hours screech and groan

The train has stopped - day starts,

But when it ends, the clock's face,

Will smile towards another stop.