It began when I stopped the short oval man,
In an attempt to converse with me.
He immediately smelled and recognized the fear,
And overwhelmingly obvious signs of alien,
Bleeding out through my skin.
He reminded me the bus comes every quarter of an hour.
I dangle my above average length of a body
Into the elongated doorway,
And exchanged a journey with golden and green money.
I am not initially from this place,
Yet the people around me,
Can’t decide if they want to trust me.
When you lick the saltiness of your lips,
With the tongue that you grew,
And know that there is no calmness.
The woman in the front thinks she knows me,
The man in the back is working up the courage to speak with me,
The children in the isles can’t open their eyes to notice me,
And every speck of dust pushes away from me.
It’s spreading onto you, and it came from me.
You quickly realize that there is no way out of this,
What you watch watches back.
The sheep and cows roll by,
I'm not surprised to see that they’re roaming free,
I worm my way onto the train,
And let the new warm bodies inside,
Fill my mind with old and cold anxiety.