I step off the train,
I'm walking down your street again,
and past your door,
but you don't live there any more.
It's years since you've been there.
Now you've disappeared
somewhere like outer space,
you've found some better place,
and I miss you -
like the desert miss the rain.
Could you be dead?
You always were two steps ahead
of everyone.
We'd walk behind while you would run.
I look up at your house,
and I can almost hear you shout
down to me
where I always used to be,
and I miss you -
like the desert miss the rain.
Back on the train,
Iask why did I come again?
Can I confess
I've been hanging round your old address?
And the years have proved
to offer nothing since you moved.
You're long gone
but I can't move on,
and I miss you -
like the desert miss the rain.
Darren Li
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