All of us know where we’re destined
And as soon as we pay for the toll,
We’ll be traveling down the intestine
Of the giant that swallows us whole.
The metal monster exposes his veins,
On the subway map of New York.
Searching tentacles wait for the trains,
Where the 5 and the 6 make a fork.
The electrical worm swerves its body,
To the beat of the sleepless city,
To the echoing steps of somebody
Who is lost in the maze of graffiti.
Here, the shrills of the breaks, never sudden,
Are awaited with calm expectation
And the light at the end of the tunnel
Is a 6 train approaching the station.