| The last train is nearly due | |
| The Underground is closing soon | |
| And in the dark, deserted station | |
| Restless in anticipation | |
| A man waits in the shadows | |
| His restless eyes leap and scratch | |
| At all that they can touch or catch | |
| Hidden deep within his pocket | |
| Safe within his silent socket | |
| He holds a coloured crayon | |
| Now, from the tunnel's stony womb | |
| The carriage rides to meet the groom | |
| And opens wide in welcome 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 quickly flashes | |
| The crayon on the wall he slashes | |
| Deep upon the advertising | |
| A single-worded poem comprised of | |
| Four letters | |
| And his heart is laughin', screamin', poundin' | |
| The poem across the tracks reboundin' | |
| Shadowed by the exit light | |
| His legs take their ascending flight | |
| To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night |