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   And in the rush to Rushall station   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