And so it goes… 

In the white room, with black curtains, near the station,
Black roof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings,
Silver horses ran down moonbeams in your dark eyes.
Dawn light smiles on you leaving, my contentment.

I’ll wait in this place where the sun never shines;
Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves.

You said no strings could secure you at the station.
Platform ticket, restless diesels, goodbye windows.
I walked into such a sad time at the station.
As I walked out, felt my own need just beginning.

I’ll wait in the queue when the trains come back;
Lie with you where the shadows run from themselves.

Another bit of 60s psychedelia that seems completely random and meaningless at first glance, and yet it isn’t.  The song seems formless, winding, aimless, like the smoke off a joint.  There is no rhyme to the verse, no obvious sense of narrative in the words.  Time seems to shift randomly back and forth.  Yet there is structure here, and a rigorous one.  Each verse is comprised of three phrases of four syllables each.  It is played, except for the chorus, with the beat on the last syllable of each phrase.  And there is a story.  A very painful one.  But not, alas, a very uncommon one.

Silver horses ran down moonbeams in your dark eyes.
Dawn light smiles on you leaving, my contentment.

I’ll wait in this place where the sun never shines;
Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves.

Yeah.  Like that…