Riding in a metal tube
Under the feet of
Millions of people
And thousands of buildings.

We all have somewhere important to be,
Something important to do,
Or someone important to see.

We are all busy with
Our extremely important business
And catch glimpses
Of people we wish to be instead.

The train sputters into
A worn station
And trembles away
To another worn, tired place.

The doors glide open
And we all lumber out.
Well dressed zombies
Following the crowd,
In a hurry
Just to work ourselves
To death.