| I caught the bus in Chinatown |
| And slept the whole way up by 95 |
| The driver, cut and weaved so crazy, just his luck kept him alive and I guess I |
| believed his rhythm on that morning after New Year’s Eve |
| And I remember Shanghai |
| How I wasn’t sure just what was safe to eat |
| The chickens pecked and wandered at the barefoot ankles of the children hawking |
| figurines of workers smiling |
| What’s the Chinese word for cheese? |
| Watched a sidewalk butcher |
| His instinctive understanding made the carcass snap and clarify beneath his |
| nimble hands that held the knife so long, so many times, the handles' changed |
| to ships just like his fingers and his palms |
| And I, I am a passenger tonight |
| I watch the world, from inside |
| It’s 2AM in Tokyo |
| And still too soon to call back to the people who will soon begin the day I |
| polished off and I will walk a mile amidst the neon lights that advertise |
| I don’t know just what they sell |
| I tell the taxi driver |
| To the park, a higher tone |
| And his gloves are pristine white just like the girls I used to know would wear |
| to dance their first cotillion |
| Every single one of them named Jennifer |
| I clutched at the same Christopher |
| I picked up at some country abbey long ago when I believed he’d keep me safe |
| and make me happy but it seems the luck he brings is not the common currency of |
| penny in Japan |
| And I, I am a passenger tonight |
| I watch the world, from inside |