Journeying with no sense of direction no control over destiny or destination
I can’t take pride in flickers or flashes on their faces in the train they come and go with the same indifference
shadows of distant houses hills and trees keep passing
The speaker is on a train, and the journey feels like a image of life itself: he is moving, but he has no say in where he is going. He admits to having "no control over destiny or destination," and the plain, flat wording makes that helplessness sound like a quiet confession rather than a complaint.
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