Thrown like a rag doll, head to the glass,
We stop and wait as others show their pass.

Small lonely bodies fill the tight space,
But there's shuffling and noises all over the place.

One singular person to every double seat,
Drowning with no air in the afternoon heat.

Know where you’re going, know where you stand,
As more filter on like a marching band.

Plain colours mark everyone’s clothes,
They wear a shade of tiredness from head to toes.

A concert plays in almost everyone's ears;
They listen to a song no one else hears.

Into your town, the air your own,
You breathe the breeze that smells of home.

Scurry to the end, and then I’m out the door,
That's what I’ve found on the number 74.