Lying on an air mattress,  
in a metal box by the sea,
I can see them,
but they can't see me.
I watch as the numbers flow down the screen,
and the planes are painted in red and green;
A solitary station that no one sees,
How I ended up here is beyond me.
Choices made for some reason or another,
Isn't this the kind of thing you blame on your mother?
A brief look back through my time and crime,
Reveals so willingly how I ended up fine.
My action so slowly crafting my place,
My mind so cunningly setting the pace,
My body so completely embracing my path,
My conscience so silently withholding it's wrath.