No one's really watching from the 6.34 train
As the evening breaks its coloured heart in vain
I wanna hug these people to my chest
And learn their middle names
And then point toward the sunset and explain

How the cold commission flats
Become a canvas for the sun
To paint its work of massive genius for an hour
And the city breathes a quiet sigh of sadness when it's 
done
And we all flick on pallid copies of its power

But these words are pressed
Into my chest
They're with my limited express
Yes

When you're not home, the house is empty
And it echoes like a church
And so I drop my bag and head out for a beer
But there are no familiar faces
When I do a random search 
For all the usual suspects that hang out 'round here

So I wander down past Westgarth and the view toward the 
creek
And then I walk into a massive wall of rain
A bright light comes from my right
And then forgetting what I'm doing, I catch the train

A minute's rest
Facing the west
Let's not get too hard to impress
Yes

Droplets hang like jewellery from a tired cyclone fence
As the city's sodden street lights start to glow
Downwind from the brewery there are two things making 
scents
Smell the jasmine and the brewer's yeast, thinking all 
good things will grow

And the ragged fledgling Wattle-birds all soaked down 
to their down
Well, they still find time to bicker and to squawk
And the train horns and the tram bells are the language 
of this town
And my feet make conversation as I walk

A minute's rest
Facing the west
Let's not get too hard to impress
Yes

These words I press
Into your chest
Bare with my limited express
Yes