An old man with a suitcase
Older than himself
Passing through the waiting hall
Like a ghost
He doesn't know where he's going
He can't hide where he has been
I can hear the deepest blue
In his voice
One Two, the rumors are true
Three Four, to walk the ocean floor
Count Five, and wait for the tide
He wears a sadness with honor
And his torn coat with pride
A lifetime of belongings
In one hand
And as I'm leaving the station
I can see him standing there
Looking for a friendly face
In the crowd