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.