Lonely dancers
in this straphanger's ball
I'd like to dance with you,
but it would be rude to ask
(rude, even, to look)
But there's a swing in the stride
of the train that we ride,
there's a clank and a clank
and a whoosh in it's stride.
There's a gleam in the dank
and it's us, it's the train
We could turn inside out
and start over again.
We could whoosh, we could sway
we could clank, we could spin
We could open our mouths
we could speak, we could sing
We could ... clank
We could ... maybe grab a coffee sometime?
We could ... clank
We could ....
With your nose in your book
and mine in my magazine,
we sit, still
hurtling under the city
separated by inches of space
but miles of memory.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment