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Racing on rails through mint choc chip fields
The engine throbbing its' monotonous tone
The ice wind covering the blue sky with grey
and people chit-chatting the dead time away
Station after station we lazily pass
Commuters climb on and struggle to find
Any space to sit down or comfortably stand
So they stay near the doors and gaze through the glass
Fields turn to streets and streets into buildings
The tired train shunts to its station finalé
Papers are folded and books put away
Open the doors, onto the platform we spill
The race through the barriers, the barrage of mass
Crammed through an arrow-slot, bodies being juiced
A moment of pressure then free open air
All the rush is gone and I saunter care-free along
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