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A young woman with light brown hair tied in a messy bun, wearing a black top with pink and white floral patterns, is asleep on a train or bus. She has fair skin, closed eyes, and her head is resting against the dark frame of a window.
The rain smears the city into art,
A moving painting just for her,
She rests her head, a heavy heart,
And lets the outside world become a blur.
The floral pattern on her shoulder blades
Is the only garden in this steel machine,
As through the glass, the busy city fades,
A silent movie on a rainy screen.
Her song is private, a secret place,
Where she can drift beyond the track,
A gentle slumber on her tired face,
With the whole world riding on her back.