Slow

On a Friday
I sit in the room
In my head there's a tune and I feel defeated
By the speed machine
and the social scene
I keep on waiting for something to happen

I am slow
and it's high time I am slowed down
to feel the cost of all my movement

Next to the stoop
There's a ring of grass
where nothing else will grow
It's a precious thing
finding life in the dead zone
People are always walking
across the tracks behind our building
There's always the feeling
that so much is happening

That's enough
Stop and stare
Long enough
Into the glare
Cut it out
Don't fill it up