Into The Belly Of The Beast, a trip on the subway
Locations
Down deep dank halls, 'twixt metal bars
Pass the morning sacrifices
unaware of their peril, they wait; listening to the sound of guitars
played by zombies that wander with their glazed eyes
and their empty words, and their smoky cigars
Calming, pacifying, their wraith-like bodies mingling
Their voices a silent hum that soothes the hurt, the scars
As the sacrifices wait for their turn
and breathe the smells of underground, of smoke and urine and dark,
and stare at the walls, of slime and graffiti and dirt,
and huddle in groups, without breathing a single remark;
Only watching, waiting, listening for the mournful cry
that will signal the zombies to disembark
and fade into the shadows, leaving only the ones who wait
for the soulful moan, the light, the ominous sparks
that draw their eyes like moths to a flame,
entrancing, entrapping, hypnotizing, no thoughts to run or make war
only quiet anticipation, a tense atmosphere building up around them
as they stay, riveted as the glinting eye approaches, reaching forward
into the dense darkness of the tunnel where the souls are gathered,
awating their turn to take the leap, as they blindly disregard
the grinding screech as the creature's limbs protest its abrupt stop
and the crushing jaws that creak open to accept them, whilst they walk forward without guard
Shoving to be first to take the trip, the leap
Into the belly of the beast.