On the last train to Providence
I will wear my mask
And believe that all my joyful thoughts
Will bring the colors back

The radio was playing
There's a memory of a note
That cries and recedes, and gnashes it's teeth
As it drifts along the coast

My wrongs they are many
But my regrets they are none
Only a lonely shadow ever hurt no one

And I dreamed a life I've never known
Filled my pockets with the falling snow
I stand in time between the past and the unknown
Between the garden and the road

As the last great war hero
Looked upon his men
He said 'My weary sons I fear
My faith is wearing thin.'

For he had come to love them
And he saw them as his own
He stepped back from the podium
And followed his thoughts home

As he gazed upon that open road
He filled his pockets with the falling snow
He walks in time between his past and his unknown
Between his garden and the road.