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Sunday, 6 March 2011

M.O.T. S.O.S. (Man On Tube, Same Ol' Shit)

I want your voice to get smaller and smaller
So my headphones are getting bigger
My musical tastes are acquiring new levels
Like strong cheese
Their notes puncture the air
I can feel that from the stares I get
From the other passengers
Cross looks and cut eyes
No nudges though today

Today is a good day.

You’re like an amoeba in my brain now
Or maybe a small clot
Feasting on my insides slowly
But just a dot
A small forgettable punctuation
Mark my words
I still want your voice to go completely away
Your accusatory cadences
And half-finished sentences
And all that nonsensical reasoning

Go away go away go away

I tell myself today is a good day
I tell myself to focus
On the eclectic mix in my ears
But you have ways of sinking in between beelines
Ways of adding paranoid heart taps to each track
On the back of a hi-hat
And the tail of a riff
I tell myself to drift
Tell myself to make my mind shift
And I shift in my seat uncomfortably

I need to get off now
Need to get off

And now it’s said
I can hear you in my head
With your audible grin
Doing that thing you always do

“STOP”, I say

The people staring now look away
The man next to me has walked to the end of the carriage
There’s a marriage of eye-avoidance and curiosity

And this is London, dear
So I’m just another mad man shouting
Someone else to be ignored
And they don’t understand
That all I want is for it to stop.

I need to get off this train.
Today was meant to be a good day
Now it’s not

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