From where I was in a place I know,
Through where I don't belong.
(To a somewhere I must distant go),
In which my presence seems somehow wrong.

I swift pass all which looks the same,
As the things from where I hail.
But with me little sameness came,
On my journeying by rail.

Streets of houses, gardens, sheds,
Allotments, playgrounds, parks.
Fields and trees and flower beds,
The familiar place in life each marks.

But these are someone else's things,
And I trespass on their land.
And even the sun their daylight brings,
Cannot a sense of home command.

People's lives, their homes and work,
Of which I'll never be a part.
Though in my society and culture lurk,
I'll never know their mind or heart.

And as darkness falls, then even more,
I feel I'm a stranger, far away.
From the sights and sounds I so adore,
Familiar things of my home’s day.

It's just like being in a foreign land,
And all about me seems the case.
A welcome for commuters never planned,
As through its soullessness I race.

This other world and all it here contains,
Seems to say "I'm not your care.
These are not your roads and country lanes,
So don't emotion for them spare".

Life is gained and lived and lost,
In all the places I traverse.
A glance, and then its quick riposte:
"Don't waste a moment, thoughts immerse."

"For you're one of many which pass us by,
And there's nothing here for you.
It's not your home, so through it fly,
Haste away; disregard the view."