Each morning we wake up On the wrong side of tomorrow— Fresh tracks from the evening Running down the length of our backs. We say today will be different; We adjust our engineer's caps, Climb aboard the locomotive We've ridden through life— This long train of spite We drive deep into night. We try to obey the traffic signs Standing between our destinations, But there are far too many To yield the right of way— One cautionary tale after the other, As far as the eye can see. And, yet, this never-ending line Provides the only comfort we know: The hum of each rail beneath us, The glow of the engine's fire, The steady tick of the brakeman's watch— As if we could safely measure the future, By the time it takes to arrive.