TICKET LYING ON THE GROUND
SMALL BOY CRYING AT LOST AND FOUND
UMBRELLAS TAP ;
RESOUNDING SOUNDS ;
OF TRAIN DOORS CLOSING ALL AROUND ;

AND THEN AT LAST ON TO THE STREET ,
THE BROLLIES RISE AGAINST THE SLEET ,
LONG BLACK COATS THE UNIFORM OF CITY GENTRY FIGHT THE STORM ,

THE STATIONS QUIET ,
HYDAULIC HISS ,
BREAKS THE ALMOST SILENT BLISS .

THE CLOCK IS SLOWLY TURNING ROUND ,

NOW THE MASS IS HOMEWARD BOUND ,

THE TURNSTILES SPIN .
THE TRAINS ARE LATE .
THE HUMAN RAT RACE IS OUR FATE .