Riding The Underground To You - Poem by Conor Young
The sun and the sky cannot be seen
Nor can the man driving this machine,
He plunges me into the unforeseen.
Yet I have to question the executive routine,
Which painted the walls this yellowish green.
My god! Will I never see my Goa Bean?
This train is stuck under the Dead Sea.
Oh, let the passengers come with me.
I wonder will I ever be free.
I am the underground’s detainee.
But it’s okay, for under the pineapple tree,
My Ashleigh is waiting for me.
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