He fell asleep before the stop,
Maybe forgot the speed of Tokyo trains.
Awoken by a stealthy drop
He saw the sign three stations late
On a platform, washed in autumn rain
He cursed his luck and crossed the gate
For any asphalt would have done.
He hung his life on fate.
That was the last that I did see;
Before he and the crowd were one ; before his soul lost all its will
To leave the toxic city.
I bet that he is walking still;
I hope we meet.
A dollar says we never will
On any street.