Waiting On A Train

Waiting for the Train

Lately I’ve been thinking, about a tribute to my Mom

Abandoned by the many, she embraced with open arms.

Once she was a volunteer to comfort lonesome souls.

Now she’s on the lonely end, the price of growing old.

She’s waiting for her train.

She’s waiting in that old people’s home.

I will never forget my visits to her there,

Alz-heimers came a calling, and that blank and empty stare.

If I hold her hand she’ll follow, I can’t seem to hold her mind

Alz got her full attention, she’s lost most of the time.

She’s waiting for her train.

She’s waiting for her ride home.

There’s a train, she’s waiting at the station,

with her oil and her lamp lit in her hand.

And she’s standing on the platform, he’s a kind and handsome man.

And she knows him as her savior, like the back of her own hand.

She’s waiting for her train.

She’s waiting in that old people’s home.

Sometimes when she’d remember she would ask about my brother

and sister and the others then ask me where I’ve been.

And I’d tell her they’ve been busy, with the kids in school and work

And that I’ve been coming daily, she’d forget and ask again.

She’s waiting for her train.

She’s waiting in that old people’s home.

There’s a train, she’s waiting at the station,

with her oil and her lamp lit in her hand.

And she’s standing on the platform, he’s a kind and handsome man.

And she knows him as her savior, like the back of her own hand.

She’s waiting for her train.

She’s waiting for her ride home.

Lately, I’ve been thinking, about a tribute in a song,

An answer to a prayer, just try to get along.