The light at the head of the tunnel is the light of an oncoming train. I can see my reflection in its' unblinking eye, and I don't want to ride it, again. But I don't want to go to my Dad's, or Detroit, so I ride it at least twice a day. I've been searching for justification so long, it's an unwelcome change, getting paid. And, when my heavy heart hurts, I knuckle down and get back to work. And no one can tell I am any the worse, I hide it so well. The lights that goes on in my window are the light that goes out in your eyes. They both came so easy, they both keep me warm, but like all good...
