People packed inside, pressed together.

The heat of one hundred hurried breaths

Sucking on sweet smoke and starvation.

Hands sticky with salted sweat.

A chorus of conversation

Lingers in the low notes of meeting metal.

Just handle the heat.

There is air above these twisted tunnels

And a warm wind waiting.

So, sleeping strangers.

Carelessly calm amid this chaos

That rocks my burning body.

Tempt me with treacherous train tracks.

I'll excite electric metal

And leave behind sorry strangers.

Holding on is hopeless.

I am cursed by this condition

And left to mourn the miles.