The last train is nearly due, 
The underground is closing soon, 
And in the dark deserted station, 
Restless in anticipation, 
man waits in the shadows. 

His restless eyes leap and scratch, 
At all that they can touch or catch, 
And hidden deep within his pocket, 
Safe within it's silent socket, 
He holds a colored crayon. 

Now from the tunnel's stony womb, 
The carriage rides to meet the groom, 
And opens wide and [bad word] doors, 
But he hesitates, then withdraws 
Deeper in the shadows. 

And the train is gone suddenly 
On wheels clicking silently 
Like a gently tapping litany, 
And he holds his crayon rosary 
Tighter in his hand. 

Now from his pocket quick he flashes, 
The crayon on the wall he slashes, 
Deep upon the advertising, 
single worded [bad word] 
Of four letters. 

And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding 
The poem across the tracks rebounding 
Shadowed by the exit light 
His legs take their ascending flight 
To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night.