Preachers in the station
Beggars in the street
Watchers of the rivers
Of people on their feet
See the commuters stream
From sidewalk to cross walk
Dodging piles of shit
Never a pause to talk
Buskers singing of love and sadness
Bicycles zipping by
And ignorant, impulsive drivers
Not realizing their potential for murder is high
The chaos is hardly random
In this calculated system
Until you take ownership of your part
The drivers will guide us to hell
Paying for things without thinking
Is a luxury most cannot afford
Yet that lack of worry
Is often the final word
In your sentence into debt
And you'll pay with your life
Baited by the shiny and useless
Looking for distraction
Finding your escape in frivolity
And weight heavily by the banal
This flow of people is a current
And to stray takes a toll