On the train I sit,
Surrounded by flesh
Both my own, and the flesh of others,
Each contemplating the mundane,
Each intrigued with the humdrum.
Each settled,
comfortable with their life’s beat.
On the train I sit,
Contemplating my own feeble existence.
Wondering, wishing, yearning
Settled in thought, as time continues waning
Will I be the same?
Am I even to blame?
Will I ultimately be nothing but a face in my grandchildren’s brains?
A nobody sitting in a picture frame,
Shying away from fame, slowly extinguishing my own flame
All of us, we’re all the same.
On the train I sit,
As it comes to its final halt
And I dare to look up again.
Alas, still surrounded,
Faceless faces in a sea of faces.
