The last train is nearly due
|
The underground is closing soon
|
And in the dark deserted station
|
Restless in anticipation
|
A man waits in the shadows
|
|
His restless eyes leap and scratch
|
At all that they can touch or catch
|
And hidden deep within his pocket
|
Safe within its silent socket
|
He holds a colored crayon
|
|
Now from the tunnel's stony womb
|
The carriage rides to meet the groom
|
And open wide and welcome doors
|
But he hesitates, and then withdraws
|
Deeper in the shadows
|
|
And the train is gone suddenly
|
On wheels clicking silently
|
Like a gently tapping litany
|
And he holds his crayon rosary
|
Tighter in his hand
|
|
Now from his pocket quick he flashes
|
The crayon on the wall he slashes
|
Deep upon the advertising
|
A single worded poem consisting
|
Of four letters
|
|
And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding
|
The poem across the tracks rebounding
|
Shadowed by the exit light
|
His legs take their ascending flight
|
To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night
|
|
-----------------
|
A Poem On The Underground Wall (Live)
|
Simon & Garfunkel |