*This is in honor of the band, Train. My boyfriend called me this morning to tell me that his son heard on VH1 News that the band just broke up. They are my favorite band and have "the best" poetic lyrics...ever! They have influenced my poetry and it broke my heart that they were leaving us, so this is a tribute to them! May their music continue to ride the rails...they were the best soy latte I ever had!
TRAIN DE-RAILED
They made their debut in
San Francisco coffeehouses
and put their heart into their music,
San Francisco Apostles that
boarded a Train and approached
the music industry like
the little engine that could.
They told us, "I'm here for
your fantasy sanity...I'm here for you,"
and offered to let us spill our purses
onto their beds and make them be
our whipping boys.
They left their silhouettes upon our pillows,
introduced us to Virginia (She smokes a pack
a day...wait that's me, but anyways) during
five-hour phone conversations, secret
midnight calls.
I was their beauty queen.
They pumped my gas for me
and called me Mississippi,
but I didn't flow for them.
We dined together on eggplant and caviar,
and they danced with me on my kitchen floor.
We listened to Mozart, put ketchup
on our eggs, and drowned together
in a sea spilled from a cup.
I told them what it was like
to be the Queen of it ALL,
the Neiman Marcus of the Mall.
My new dress was their new way
and their new way was my new dress
(they looked fine).
I wore way too much
watermelon lipstick.
They told me it was alright
not to shave my legs...
they wouldn't laugh.
They compared me to a soda can
sitting on ice, said order the sushi
but eat only the rice when I visited
the soup bowl in the skies on
my way back from the milky way...
And when I lost myself out there,
they sent me a postcard:
"Go on, hitch a ride on the back
of a butterfly.
Maybe you could pollinate over the
Golden Gate."
When I was down,
they told me not to
spend time with anyone
who didn't think I was wonderful
or at least cash-refundable,
and they made me laugh...
But now they're just another
musical train wreck leaving me
with their boxcar cd set and
a few drops of Jupiter.
I want to tell them that
they were black and beautiful,
yellow and tan,
white as light and soft as sand,
and now all I have left
is the freeze-dried romance
of second-rate bands.
I'd tell it to their face,
but they lost their face
along the way, and besides,
why would they listen to me?
I'm just a plain ol Jane
told a story 'bout a man
who was too afraid to fly
so he never did land.
I guess I'll just go listen
to my old Train Tracks
and miss them while I'm
searching for myself
out there.
