While I watch
For strange, futuristic looking trains
That dump humanity on twenty-five cent streets
The high-rise tower waits.
Its geriatric guard fondles his new gun.
And he wonders
What the state has made of me
In polaroid and plastic coats,
Ah, this don't look much like you, son.
It was before I grew my beard.
Fingers fall away from steel,
Well ... you better get another one.
And he let me through his gate,
just another someone who he'd cleared,
Another someone tempting fate.