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by Mercury, 15, USA

Waiting beneath the urban jungle,
With its mountains of concrete, steel and plexiglass,
Is a woman waiting for her subway train
In, of all things, a prom dress.

She's poised like a model
Hands on her hips and tapping her stiletto heels.
The subway train rattles into the station
Halting laborously with a squeal.

The woman enters,
Joining the other characters in the car.
The subway prophet warns of the approaching millenium ,
Babbling to no one in particular.

The prophet's words clash with the tunes of the musician.
The urban minstrel, who lives off his guitar and voice,
Is willing to grant anyone's lyrical request
And fill the subways with his noise.

The "normal" people shoot dirty looks at the characters
As if they were the root of all pain.
But they don't know it's the "crazy" ones
That are actually the most sane.