You sleep dreamless on the watchtowerbaby,
in the heart of the train,
and it's seamless.
Your light's beamless,
and so you're hiding in the tunnel until the fire's exchanged
for a setlist.
You call them insane.
Call in, call out.
And then your eyes twitch,
and then you're outside,
and you call them insane.
In-line shockring.
You make a racket in the station until the silence explains
guideway blocking.
Shockwave docking.
It took 100,000 blinkers for the darkness to drain,
to start talking.
The factions make peace by the subway light.
And then your eyes twitch.
And then you're outside.
Call in.
Call out.
Collinear.
Call them insane.