It's a magical world.
Mid January summer,
Saturday night Melbourne,
Flinders St. station crowd.

A dead escalator,
20:00 Sydenham just missed!
A broken bag strap,
And an undone shoe-lace.

The day-work fatigue,
Baking dusky heat,
With stench of smokes
And beer in air.

It's a magical world..
Babel of over 50 tongues,
Yet easily people converse.
My YPK3 on low batt.

Birds feeding on litter,
Blowies buzzing over head
In a crowd of five hundred
On platform five.

The 20:14 Sydenham
Only half an hour late.
What more could happen?
Then a dusty wind swept!

It's a magical world.
Hasty blinks, some eye-rubbing
Is all that it really takes.
A little imagination too.

A purple red horizon,
Silhouetted birds against sky,
Light mist fogging the air,
With some rosy fragrance.

The whole world is fairy lit.
The playlist's too my favourite.
But has an outta-place chime
Definitely that of your anklets.

It's a magical world.
I look for you in the mist,
What more to see I'd wish?
The 20:14 arrives smoking!

I shut myself.
The least I can help
My poor little mind.
Solace, it finds, confined.

I lock the door,
With locks five or four.
I leave a window ajar,
To world, outside yet far.

I peep outside,
Past late at night
And attempt to interact
With silence in fact.

And then I smile,
With world reconcile.
There's a glowing light
Far, yet in sight.

I'm not alone
To darkness prone.
There are others too
In dark, who, light pursue.

The world is too big to believe.
I think it ends there,
At that tree,
The last one that I see.
And that bend
Seems the gate of the world.
That's where I came from,
Doesn't matter where from.
And through it I'll go out,
Doesn't matter where to.

The world is too big to believe.
I think it ends there,
At that piece of land,
Where the end of my shadow falls.
And beyond it
Lies a world all unknown.
I know I haven't come from,
Then why must it matter to me.
I know I won't even go to,
Then why must it matter at all.