West 4th, A Train to Borough Hall, transfer.
Be still and listen for your god's whisper.

Don't touch emergency breaks unless you've heard the call.
Electric motors are the prettiest transmitters of all.

They're always so slow.
There's always a line.
They're never on time.
I can make them on time.

F all the way to 179 Jamaica.
Boomerang to 14th, then 2 or 3, uptown.
Overhead they stumble toward their destination.
The dark is clear as day to me, underground.

Chorus

I feel no anger for the judge or doctors.
I am at peace with the police.
Their handcuffs have not stopped this locomotion.
The metal wheels whisper and put me at ease.

Chorus

©2006