(Do da do da, do de dooda)
(Do da do da, do de dooda)
(Do da do da, do de dooda)
(Do da do, do doo...)
I am sitting on a bench seat, commuting to the office.
Passengers consuming, staring at their phones.
Sitting right in front of me, I see her making music.
Tiny lyrics on the screen.
She stops, rewinds, listens again.
Adjusts something I can’t hear.
I wonder what her song's about.
What can she create in such a jumbled place?
Is she writing about this moment.
Maybe scopaesthesia?
She turns slightly.
Catches my eyes in the reflection.
It’s my stop now
So I smile and disembark.
[outro ]
(Do da do da, do de dooda)
(Do da do da, do de dooda)
(Do da do da, do de dooda)
(Do da do, do doo...)