The Train

Airplane sliding through the inky sky 
  Highway an amoeba on its slide 
  Trains beneath the pavement watch the tunnels slip by 
  All sailing to the city in a slow glide. 

  In pixillated passages there are corridors of hope 
  Doors with destinations to decide 
  Through canyons of corruption both up and down the slope 
  We traverse our little landscape in a slow glide 

  You can liberate your life from it's sticky routine 
  Manacles are fastened from the inside 

  Vistas in the distance still remaining to be seen 
  as we fall into our future in a slow glide 

  Every man falls down 
  tries to find his way 
  is found 
  his way is here with us now 
  and finds his way 
  is not 
  alone