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Waiting at the Railway Station 1 by Anubhab

SongGPT
Waiting at the Railway Station 1 by Anubhab - Indie Pop (Reflective Ballad),Neutral Vocals music cover art

Waiting at the Railway Station 1

Indie Pop (Reflective Ballad),Neutral Vocals

0:003:51
Lyrics
Description
[Intro]
Coal-smoke stitched into the night air,
A ticket stub creased in my palm — worn thin.
Lamplight trembles on the platform rail,
The whistle draws a long thin line of wind.
[Verse 1]
Under the low moon, the city exhales,
Footsteps scatter like ash in the cold.
I fold the moments like paper, fragile, pale,
Counting names I never quite told.
The rails hum underneath my boots,
Heartbeat tapping time to a train’s slow song.
I watch the windows where strangers commute,
Waiting where small hopes belong.
[Pre-Chorus]
Minutes fold into the rails,
The city hums, I do not move.
Each passing light calls out your name,
I answer with a quiet groove.
[Chorus]
At the station, I wait — for the shape of you.
Every whistle scratches hope across the blue.
Hoping your arms will bring me home,
A single promise on a line of chrome.
At the station, I wait — for the shape of you.
[Verse 2]
A chilly wind carries the scent of your coat,
A thread of cigarette smoke and winter spice.
The crowd tides onward; I am a single note
Held on the edge of a closing line of ice.
Your laugh is a train that never stopped here,
A ticket stamped with a year that bends.
I keep my hands warm around something dear —
A photograph, a folded letter, loose ends.
[Pre-Chorus]
Shadows thin and thicken like breath,
The platform holds its quiet shape.
I fold my hope into the edge of night,
And wait for time to take its drape.
[Chorus]
At the station, I wait — for the shape of you.
Trains pass like ghosts with glass that won’t break through.
Hoping your arms will keep me whole,
One small harbor for this traveling soul.
At the station, I wait — for the shape of you.
[Bridge]
A silhouette blurs at the far end of light —
Not yet a name, not yet a face.
The coat could be yours, or someone else’s night;
My breath meets the cold in slow embrace.
A scarf loosens, tumbles, catches at my shoe —
It flutters like a secret dropped between us.
For a long beat I don’t know if I should move,
Then the streetlight says a syllable of us.
[Final Chorus]
At the station, you come through the fog, not dream —
A hand, a name, a scarf that smells like home.
Hoping becomes the steady thing it seemed:
Two steps, a hush, the rails no longer roam.
At the station, I wait — and you are true.
[Outro]
The whistle folds into a softer hum,
Lamplight finds the corners of our hands.
On the rails, a new song quietly becomes
The steady sound of where we stand.
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