Lyrics:
Machinko, we get silly
Had a ball 'bout to call a cab like Wet Willie's
When I'm in commuter traffic I'm never worried or panic
First class travel I'm
a stupor its the future I'm the dude who exudes Braavado coming out of Rio Claro Trinidad daily commuters Traffic smoother shall we face new Beginnings laugh
holding my old rucksack on your knees You leaned towards your window
To see the traffic up ahead
"These commuters here," you said
"Could be the walking
We wake up and we do it again
Traffic eyes looking down the highway
Blasting our radio talk shows
You know I'm singing the commuter blues
We hate
commuters on the access roads
The brake lights flash, there's an RV - crashed
I'm in the passing lane going nowhere fast
The traffic crawls, and the engine
perfectly happy right where I am
I could live forever in a traffic jam
It doesn't really bother me to breath the poison air
I'd choke anyway, I don't really
pin-striped suit.
Can't lose those early-morning-can't-stop-yawning
Push and shoving rush hour blues.
Soon I'll be just one of the commuters
Waiting for
sweat, and tears on a page is all it took to
To spend every evening watching commuters come home from work, but
Recently the traffic's been getting
It was a grey dawn, penciled in lightly
The morning screamed, neath the traffic's feet
The razor burned commuters reflections
It didn't seem
way through the Swanston commuters
Rips off his tie, hands it to a homeless man
Sleeping in the corner of a metro bus stand and he screams
I'm not
Christmas decorations
Commuter cars all waiting at a light
The line outside the Roxy full of hopeful conversation
Some local band is playing there tonight
the sea
Meeting a couple heading home from a cafe
Bus no 4 has just started to go
And tired commuters start to queue
Early morning, the seagulls that watch
the conversation I imagine having
I stare at nameless commuters
Buried in newspapers
Eating cakes shaped like Pokemon
I think of calling you
Time difference is
a masquerade of brightness
Are you still my sweetheart
Or is the dream of London dead?
I know it's been said
Commuter belt regret
They're all endless roads
Police and traffic-blockers
Menders
Street-vendors on street corners
Coroners and mourners
I write for crack heads and kids on mopeds
Divorcees
the traffic but its too early to start my working day
See commuters run to computers something led my eye astray
See him standing in the shadows scruffy hair
Welcome to our club, we don't mind what you ride, be it sports-bike, cruiser or commuter
Classic, bagger, chopper, bobber, cafe-racer,
puter games
Com-pu-pu-pu-pu-puter-puter-puter-puter, computer games
Jammed up tight by red traffic lights
Advance one level on green
These opportune
perfectly happy right where I am
I could live forever in a traffic jam
It doesn't really bother me to breath the poison air
I'd choke anyway, I don't
My Confusion Corner commuters
Are cursing the cold away
As December tries to dissemble
The length of their working day
And they bite their mitts
Mobile phones
Commuter trains
The Terminus is full of men
Crisscross network
Zigzag railway
The next stop is Waterloo
White-collar timetable
My Confusion Corner commuters are cursing the cold away,
as December tries to dissemble the length of their working day.
And they bite their mitts
play,
A dog and a toad and a parakeet
And a dad who rode the commuter train
Twice every day, five days a week
Back on Cedar Lane
With the brains
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