Follow the 'T's homenWatch them become 'M's, bluenThree then two then nOne white line relieves these fighting eyesnSo rest a while, enjoy the viewnYou look like you need itnnCoffee circles on napkins are always asking fornA curve and two small 'x's, nIn a tired attempt to make waitresses smilenIn late-night service stationsnI always try but it never seems to worknWhilst in the corner a truck driver eats his mealnAnd stares at the badly tuned televisionnOn which the BBC never looked so goodnnSleep tight, she saidnAnd runs her fingers through his hairnWe've arms for pillowsnAnd well, if smiles are night lightsnThen why's it always dark inside... here?nnShe wipes the table down nAnd slowly tilts her head towards the glass, nShe catches eyes with the street-sleeper in the carpark, nHe's drawing figure-8s with his feet in the snow nAnd smirking to himselfnAs if to say I know something you don'tnHe starts mouthing words through the windownnAnd it says Child, sure you can tell the futurenThe minute it becomes the pastnOh God, you're clever,nWell that roof means nothingn'Cause we all still die alonennWe're all homelessnSometimes we all feel homelessnnIs there no hope?