Ethics of the Local Train (UK Edition)

British folk, j-pop, Japanese folk, Japanese, world music, folk rock

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The local train crawls as the fast ones fly by,
Brushing the city lights out of our eye. 
We hang on the straps, giving all of our weight, 
Carried to a tomorrow that’s barren and late.

The last train escapes Waterloo in the dark,
The noises of London leave only a spark. 
The time-limit ticks to become someone grand, 
Beyond the ticket barrier, no one will stand.

On the screen shines the winner of fifteen seconds, 
A world where a mindless applause always beckons.
But we hold no ticket to sit on that throne, 
We just lock the screen, and we face the unknown.

The chairs for the victors are gone from the room,
But learning to give up is not failure’s doom.
Stepping down from the algorithm gone mad,
We find our own pace in the days that we had.

Behind the glass of the crowded train,
We live a clean defeat through the misty rain. 
If we must trample on another man’s tread, 
We’d rather stand still and stay late instead.

Brushing our shoulders in the narrow space, 
Blaming no one, we wait for the dawn’s embrace.

Leaving the overhead tracks, into the dark, 
Bricks holding shadows of the South Bank park. 
Where Docklands once built the iron of the past, 
Now cold glass financial towers rise too fast.

The old Thames bed that was carved so deep,
Where memories of workers forever sleep. 
In days tossed by data that has no home,
The heavy mud holds us, so we don't roam.

A journey back then, in the scent of old rain,
A vanishing town and a silent refrain. 
In times with no answers to guide where we go, 
The pride left within us is all that we know.

Behind the glass of the crowded train,
We live a clean defeat through the misty rain.
If we must trample on another man’s tread,
We’d rather stand still and stay late instead.

The lights of the towers, a constellation so cold,
Shine on the nights where our stories untold. 
Like the stillness of water that runs from the deep, 
We pray for the tomorrow our neighbors will keep.

The world will not change just to be polite,
The lights of the screen will fade into the night,
Our local train moves again, steady and slow.

In a city that throws stones at those who are weak,
I’ll hold this clean defeat, the truth that I seek.

Passing the barrier in the morning light,
Beyond the old highway...

Quietly, the sun rises again.

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Ethics of the Local Train (UK Edition) The local train crawls as the fast ones fly by, Brushing the city lights out of our eye. We hang on the straps, giving all of our weight, Carried to a tomorrow that’s barren and late. The last train escapes Waterloo in the dark, The noises of London leave only a spark. The time-limit ticks to become someone grand, Beyond the ticket barrier, no one will stand. On the screen shines the winner of fifteen seconds, A world where a mindless applause always beckons. But we hold no ticket to sit on that throne, We just lock the screen, and we face the unknown. The chairs for the victors are gone from the room, But learning to give up is not failure’s doom. Stepping down from the algorithm gone mad, We find our own pace in the days that we had. Behind the glass of the crowded train, We live a clean defeat through the misty rain. If we must trample on another man’s tread, We’d rather stand still and stay late instead. Brushing our shoulders in the narrow space, Blaming no one, we wait for the dawn’s embrace. Leaving the overhead tracks, into the dark, Bricks holding shadows of the South Bank park. Where Docklands once built the iron of the past, Now cold glass financial towers rise too fast. The old Thames bed that was carved so deep, Where memories of workers forever sleep. In days tossed by data that has no home, The heavy mud holds us, so we don't roam. A journey back then, in the scent of old rain, A vanishing town and a silent refrain. In times with no answers to guide where we go, The pride left within us is all that we know. Behind the glass of the crowded train, We live a clean defeat through the misty rain. If we must trample on another man’s tread, We’d rather stand still and stay late instead. The lights of the towers, a constellation so cold, Shine on the nights where our stories untold. Like the stillness of water that runs from the deep, We pray for the tomorrow our neighbors will keep. The world will not change just to be polite, The lights of the screen will fade into the night, Our local train moves again, steady and slow. In a city that throws stones at those who are weak, I’ll hold this clean defeat, the truth that I seek. Passing the barrier in the morning light, Beyond the old highway... Quietly, the sun rises again.

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