The man who played with model trains
In the furnished basement painted black
How it pleased him every day
The pattern of the rail
The pattern of the tiny track

One night he slips and hits his head
As he reaches for a sleeper car
And the lights kept blinking red
Now level with his eye
His miniature Place de la Gare

The kids knew something wasn’t right
In the morning when he kissed them all
He didn’t say a word

And the model trains keep going round

Showered shaved but sullied still
With a fist of pink and blue and red
And he will swallow every pill
To help him with his fear
Of getting from the bath to bed

And the model trains keep going round

Eyes cased in rime
A face that’s chapped with tiger’s tears

How his wife will mark the time
By learning how to love
He’s been like this for seven years

And now as a last resort
She takes him to the ward in Redding
Thirty miles away

And through through the spidered glass
The headstraps and the gas
She watches as they put him under

And the model trains keep going round

She drives him home in the family car
Stealing glances at this body strange
The vacant smile the clean white scar
On the man who disappeared
The man who played with model trains

The man who made her laugh
The man who played with model trains