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They say life’s an open book
But you’ve seen it close too many times
So you beg to disagree.
Down here at Platform Nine
There’s hustle and bustle and moonlit flakes of snow;
It’s life on the go; quick, quick, slow.
All colours and creeds; young and old;
Lovers bidding farewell with a frosty kiss,
Swearing how much they’ll miss each other.
Nothing changes but fashion and modes of transportation.

Train pulling in, people piling in.
Train pulling out on a cold December night,
What a delight!

Winter boots echo eerily on empty platforms.
The last train has gone;
The old station heaves a sigh.
You make your way home through deserted streets,
The wind whispering in your ear,
“It’s not your time to say, ‘Goodbye’.”
An old man passes by, raises his hat and smiles
And you feel beautiful.

Key in the door, letters on the floor.
A cup of coffee, fire burning bright,
What a delight!