Compartmental Cosmopolitan
A street it is only in name
A street is the sea of people
The people is the street
There is no mark or direction sign
Should I look into their foreheads?
It used to be, with signs, over head
The foreheads are way above from the ground;
Should I look, see them there?
Ever since I have been in this compartment
I can see the people giving me company
Unasked, unwanted tho’ they still got me
Like we were born to be together to be here
How can there be a street in the compartment?
Are these people and us, trapped in the compartment?
As I keep walking, the road never ends
I can sense a memory, tickling deep down my mind
I'm sure there used to be a home
But I am walking down the street
With no name, no sign
There used to be a home where I used to halt
But there is no name, no sign, no more.
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