Through the dirty windows of a train I saw things clearly…
The tranquil waters of the Hudson I was passing by.
It's the end of summertime. I'll be with you tonight and maybe
we shall wake to autumn's splendor when our eyes meet the morning light.
And I've been traveling alone in the caverns around Grand Central
and I was traveling alone when the train broke into light.
When I'm not traveling alone I am loving and gentle,
but now I'm traveling alone, and alone can be all right.
I left our house and home when winter turned to springtime.
I put my past security aside.
Past tears and pain I came to feel my strength.
Clearly I came to know that on myself I could rely.
And I've been traveling alone in the caverns around Grand Central
and I was traveling alone when the train broke into light.
When I'm not traveling alone I am loving and gentle,
but now I'm traveling alone, and alone can be all right.
Where water meets the beach there comes a separating
Hills reach ever upward to the sky.
The earth and air know their domains. The trains pass by
and, clearly, something says the summer's over.
The land's been parched and dried.
And I've been waiting for you, for a touch that's warm and gentle;
and I've been waiting for you to say you'd like to try,
and I've been waiting for you, confused and temperamental,
and I've been waiting for you: this truth I won't deny.
In a year of thirteen moons we write so many tunes
and, teary, we shall grieve the past and learn to leave what's passed behind.
When I wake alone at night I sometimes think of you. I nearly
fail to realize in the morning light I'll not be blind.
