The 11:52 train is leaving platform four.
We, the hardworking lower middleclass, huddle together.
Just six stops, then we`re home.
Wonder if I`ll have dinner;
Chicken salad, third time this week.
Ah, the pleasures of normal life.
Cheap beer on Saturday nights, late night TV-shows.
A vacation? Maybe in a couple of years.
At least I got a home. Barely a home, but shelter nonetheless.
Dreaming under neon signs - jogging Sunday mornings.
Could stay in shape if I only had enough money.
Who am I to moan this perfect normality?
Junk food on Friday nights. Maybe I`ll eat a steak next weekend.
Some sing the blues when they`re perfectly happy.
Others have closets full of ruined jeans; shabby chique is in this season.
We, the lower middleclass, dream of stable and better living, yet our lives consist of "good enough" and "could be worse". I rue the day when hard work don`t pay, but the truth is: