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The Kabeedies
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Eyes
Platform signs sit swinging in the station,
Old men sit in their seats,
Burning sun bearing down on the people with hair all wet from the heat.
Speeding past the bodies out the window, men straighten their ties.
All the seats of motion-sick children put fear into adult eyes.
It's a long long way to drive, before these people find a way in which to keep the truth alive.
They won't sleep 'til, they know, their aching feet are home.
Grinding wheels hit friction with the steel,
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The carriage groans with the weight,
Of people dying to get up from their tables and run head-first through the gate.
Past the cabs and half-expectant buses, mothers smoking inside,
The cars that take them home until another solitary weekday ride.
It's a long long way to drive, before these people find a way in which to keep the truth alive.
They won't sleep 'til, they know, their aching feet are home.
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