Automaton

The lover stands alone for his love is dead. 
The shadows stretch over the city and over his head. 
He cannot go home to an empty bed. 

What a startling thing, to be alone on a crowded street.
How hard the road, how weary the feet, 
when you've nowhere to go and no one to meet. 

And she and the sun and the home are gone, 
and the way and the journey and the end babble on.
Alone, a new step, he moves, an unwinding automaton.