All the sad faces, so quickly they appear
Those eyes they peer; like voyeurs of the night
As time approaches dusk, and light becomes dark
They disembark
From Upper York Street-
To the strongholds of the the Shore Road
Glimpsing in, people stare back
From the Spides of the north
To the elderly and beyond
Coughing and shuffling, moaning and groaning;
Oh! What a concert!
Amadeus would be a proud man indeed
As it slogs by I catch a fleeting glimpse
My face, appearing ever so different; sadder
It must be illusionary, right? Perhaps
Standing there, just thinking to myself
Will I ever see these people again?
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC
All the sad faces, so quickly they appear
Those eyes they peer; like voyeurs of the night
As time approaches dusk, and light becomes dark
They disembark
From Upper York Street-
To the strongholds of the the Shore Road
Glimpsing in, people stare back
From the Spides of the north
To the elderly and beyond
Coughing and shuffling, moaning and groaning;
Oh! What a concert!
Amadeus would be a proud man indeed
As it slogs by I catch a fleeting glimpse
My face, appearing ever so different; sadder
It must be illusionary, right? Perhaps
Standing there, just thinking to myself
Will I ever see these people again?
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