And as you look back on the life you once loved and the girl you once held late at night, the train whistle blows and she starts to cry. She looks like a vision standing on the platform, waving feebly because she knows it’s the only thing she can do. You want to stop the train and scream out to her, tell her she’s a thief and that she stole your heart and you wanted it back, even when you know it was hers to begin with. The truth is it was always hers. But all you do is sit and stare blankly out the foggy window. It ain’t no good, it never was.
After all, you’re just a man, and she was something else.