Breathing in the breeze, a faint smell of cow-dung and trains reaches me.
I'm sitting in the grass, leaning on the electric box as it hums against my back
and it's warning me:
!ADVERTENCIA! it screams.
but I'm much too lazy to move.
Don't get me wrong, I'd rather not be electrified
but I just can't seem to muster the effort it would take.
True, my life I might save,
but I'm tired, sort of lazy
so instead I stare at the warning...
...it's still warning.
At least some things never change.
The breeze is slightly chilly and electricity means warmth,
so, maybe if I catch fire it wouldn't be all that bad.
I'm waiting to see that shiny gleam, that silver stream come bounding over the tracks.
But every glinting surface just proves to make me nervous.
I'm seeing now that this grass is wet and seeping through my pants
It's a good thing I don't care much,
And it's not that weird to have a wet butt after sitting in wet grass.
I peek over my shoulder, they're standing there, talking, some of them look at me.
They'll just have to understand.
Though they'll probably just whisper something about it instead.
I'd rather sit in wet grass up against a warning than try to think of something to say.
They're yards away.
They don't talk to me anyway.
The air is getting balmy and I want to breathe real air.
I'm looking for a listen, calling out before me
It seems to stop the traffic.
I'm thinking of your sound and I'm wishing I could hear you now.