He likes to have the morning paper's crossword solved

Words go up
words come down
fonnrards

backwards
twisted 'round.
He grabs a pile of letters from a small suitcase

Disappears into an office
it's another working day.

And his thoughts are full of strangers

corridors of naked lights.
And his mind once full of reason

Now there's more than meets the eye.
Now a stranger's face he carries with him.

He likes a bit of reading on the subway home

A distant radio's whistling tunes that nobody knows.
At home a house awaits him
he unlocks the door

Thinking: once there was a sea here

but there never was a door.

And his thoughts are full of strangers

and his eyes too numb to see.
And nothing that he knows of
and nowhere where he's been

Won't ever quite like this.

And his thoughts are full of strangers

Corridors of naked lights. . . .
And at heart he's full of strangers
Dodging on his train of thought.

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