Prospects Madness

A train ride to Tuesday
A platform far away
Scarlet shades of evening move clouds of grey
Awaking, arriving
The dirty station where
He passes crowds of people who don't see him there

Here's a desert island room
For a man who's cast away
Stranded in this home from home
From his family
Far away

Home
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

One shoe-lace cardboard suitcase
One passport from the Queen
One room for a light bulb
Where no-one's been
Sticks and stones, my old bones
Not like nineteen fifty-four
Then the liked me fine
But not anymore