Ghost Factory

The ghost factory whistles at the end of the day
And invisible men all line up for the train
Their lives are so small and their stories the same
And they all want to know why they don’t have a name
They bring you your dinner and glass of red wine
And you open the paper and read a few lines
And you close up the paper and think about time
And make one more call and turn out the light
But the dogs and the sirens won’t let you sleep
And you put on your raincoat and go out to the street
A cop passes slowly, but to him it’s quite clear
He takes one look at you and says, “nothing here.”
A few cigarettes and a cup of cold joe
And the waitress says “things have been kind of slow”
Her daughter moved in with a fellow up town
Doesn’t call any more, damn this living alone
Down along the highway in the headlights
Searching out the journeys of the night
One of them is for me and I’m waiting
And when my travelin’s done and I am laying
In the arms of time just waiting out the day
Will I dream of going or of staying When I sail away?