Deep to the bowels where the smells and stench reek,
go the strong men and women, the fools and the meek.
But the scene here unfolds, like a madman's nightmare,
and if you are sane you'll just stay away from there.
The stage is New York, and the actors are men,
with strong supporting roles from the dead and the damned.
The setting’s all perfect...a bum’s at the door,
and then from a distance, you hear a dull roar.
the transit cop waits, his nerves tied in knots.
And then from the earth comes the five o'clock train,
rolling and rocking like an old drunken lame.
Hundreds and thousands (and then maybe more),
were squashed in that train, right up to the door.
The train grinds its wheels to force itself halt,
and then from the cars came a flash and a bolt.
Hundreds and thousands crammed fighting for space,
it mattered not who you were or what was your race.
And then from the lungs came a cry of despair,
it seems that another train had pulled up in there.
Fat ladies and models; yes even the meek,
the hippies, the hardhats, the cops and the freaks.
They all pushed and shoved to get down the hall,
and out through the gates where the smog greets them all.
For some odd ten minutes, this scene here went by,
and all that I've written is not just a lie.
The screams of the infants, whose mom’s breast they wish,
the odor of armpits that smelled like old fish.
Then suddenly, as if God himself heard our call,
the station went quiet; you could hear a pin fall.
And the wino; whose eyes have just witnessed this scene,
swore off of the bottle, to prevent more DTs.
Written by Lou Bruns with pen on paper in spring of 1972, now published digitally for the first time.
