Spilling out of stations from six to nine
Clocking in, diurnally and in time
So many lives, few considered sublime
How many to call a friend?
If the rain falls, the umbrellas come out
No lights, so full speed at roundabouts
Too much routine to leave time for doubt
Is standing out the making of man?
The evening comes and the streets just die
Time to think of things wages can buy
Grander ambitions seem pies in the sky
Best to sit and watch bodies rush by.
