• It's hot and I'm anxious,
    The seats wet and I'm sticky.
    But her voice is so delicious,
    And I'm too close to be picky.

    The massage knocks every tension from my body,
    While my watch puts it all back in.
    The views are every shade of grey,
    They're beautiful.
    The people are in more than a few,
    They're bountiful.
    The low guttural of those around me,
    Are fought by the cries of a thrown around baby.

    It's easy to feel their sadness,
    It's even easier to tell it's hard.
    To live with so many so different.
    To understand the tongue
    When it murmurs gibberish to a four year old son.
    The worried eyes of those outside,
    Who walk the streets of strangers and weird guys,
    Weird people, wearing peculiar things, walking so straight-
    You'd swear they were being pulled by a string.

    I'm scared without lying,
    I've got everything I think means everything.
    And everyone else seems more threatening than me, bigger than me.
    The crinkle of bitter eyes fills me to the bitter end
    with bitter despise.
    By now I've forgotten the sweet smell of flowers,
    Consumed by the lack of showers.

    I don't know what's come of me,
    I'm angry and late, my wills been
    Battered to a slither and a bake.
    The kids on the corner as I pass shout 'dat beat',
    and half the bus empties on Pratt Street.

    The coincidence humoured me,
    I shut the doors and made my way.
    In circles again, in circles I'll see it all again.
    Around and around. But we
    Terminate here.
    Her voice arouses me,
    And I realise we're all lonely.