Strange tales,
strange tales of love on a runaway train,
strange tales of a night,
only a brief night to somewhere far away,
strange tales of candlelight and beaujolais,
strange tales,
strangers or not,
strange to me, strangers upon a train,
eyes meeting across a carriage,
and holding a little conversation face to face,
holding a conversation with few words,
and sliding a briefcase,
sliding a briefcase under the table,
but, what did it contain,
did it contain the secrets of their shopping,
did it contain the secrets of money-making schemes,
schemes so grandiose,
schemes of world domination,
schemes of incredible ideas and ruminations,
schemes of abominations,
schemes and plans of bombs,
and the machinations of war,
schemes of secret societies,
and secrets about alien beings,
yes, strange tales,
strange tales of love on a runaway train,
strangers or not,
but strange indeed,
a briefcase slid under the table,
oh, what a bored brain upon a train,
has to do to stave off the inanity of a journey,
a journey through industrial cities,
industrial cities that mean nothing,
and that are of no interest to me,
and still, a day after,
I am still left pondering,
what it could mean,
a briefcase slid under the table,
very strange,
very strange indeed,
now, now, what could it have contained,
and what could it mean, strange tales,
strange tales upon a train,
strange tales and that lingering kiss,
that in my memory still remains,
oh, very strange,
a lingering thought upon my brain,
a lingering thought of strangers sliding that briefcase,
under the table,
a mystery,
a mystery of strangers kissing,
strangers kissing in the night upon a train,
a strange tale of strangers upon a train,
strangers upon a train in the rain.
