The story behind this song
Crowded morning, platform four. She was reading with her coffee going cold. He let the 8:15 pull out without him, told himself the next one, then the next one, then finally spoke — and she looked up slow, like she'd been waiting for some fool to miss his train. Four departures came and went while they traded names and argued paperbacks.
Every year they go back and stand on the same worn tiles in the same morning light. For the couple who never punched those two tickets — who've been happily missing trains together ever since, and getting somewhere all the while.
Lyrics
Departures every twenty minutes
We never seem to catch one
You were reading with your coffee going cold
I let the 8:15 pull out without me
Told myself the next one, then the next one, then I spoke
You looked up slow, like you'd been waiting
For some fool to finally miss his train
And the nerve I found from God-knows-where
Same worn tiles, same morning light from above
The trains kept leaving and we kept on talking
The whole world boarding while we stood there locked in
Every year we go back and stand where it began —
Platform four, where I missed my train and caught your hand
I've still never seen you ride that line
We counted later: four departures gone
While we traded names and argued paperbacks
The diesel smell, the garbled speaker calling
Cities we ignored — we were already arriving
Best fare I never used
Same worn tiles, same morning light from above
The trains kept leaving and we kept on talking
The whole world boarding while we stood there locked in
Every year we go back and stand where it began —
Platform four, where I missed my train and caught your hand
Put in new tile, scrub our morning off the floor
Won't matter. I've got it memorized:
Your cold coffee. My bad opener. The 8:15's last call.
We let it go. We let them all.
Same two fools, a few more grays above
The trains still leave on time — we still don't care
We've been missing them together for years, and getting somewhere
Every year, same tiles, same hand in my hand —
Platform four, where the rest of my life began
Let it run
We're not done talking
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