Bird flirting with death. In a deadly dance on the train line. Train coming. Woo woo, Fly past. And I find myself musing towards immortal fantasy. My imagination picks up images that no man shall ever see. Precious images won't be the death of me, nor the tiny little bird, Sweet, Dicing with death on the line that's electric. He'll live to see another day, Wahey. (c)LIVVI