The rain is coming down 
like a curtain 
and I’m certain that I’ll never feel this way 
again.

And you never fall apart 
where we can see.

The train is coming down
with its flywheel
and I’m stealing glances across the tracks
while sparks collide.

And you never run out of steam
that we can tell.

It’s just as well 
that you dance with all the vigor
of someone who must be bigger
than the way they made you feel.

It’s from the dreams
that you cut control and fear in those bigger folks 
who were steering you the way 
they wanted you to be.

The change is coming round
after the storms
and the sky’s blue painted clouds
are all we see.