Xanthia

On trains or planes we know, love remains in your head, don't watch me all alone, i won't dance nor get blue, neither worry about my cred, it is not my purlieu, on the New York Metro, men look at me like dead, then pray as if on dope, i ignore their cool untruths, insults arriving from the Med, what they'd like to do, my time is purely based on hope, not those the colour of lead, who ask me can i cope, then take me by a rope, where i can be bled, punished by their stones, down every path i tread.