A Poem on the Underground Wall
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A Poem on the Underground Wall
Simon %26 Garfunkel Lyrics


We have lyrics for 'A Poem on the Underground Wall' by these artists:


Art Garfunkel The last train is nearly due, The underground is closing soo…
paul simon / art garfunkel The last train is nearly due, The underground is closing soo…
Paul Simon /Art Garfunkel The last train is nearly due, The underground is closing soo…
Simon The last train is nearly due The underground is closing soon…
Simon & Garfunkel The last train is nearly due The Underground is closing soon…
Simon & Garfunkel Paul Simon Art Garfunkel The last train is nearly due The underground is closing soon…
Simon & Garfunkel;Art Garfunkel The last train is nearly due, The underground is closing so…
Simon & Granfunkel The last train is nearly due The underground is closing soon…
Simon; Garfunkel The last train is nearly due The underground is closing soon…


The lyrics are frequently found in the comments by searching or by filtering for lyric videos
Most interesting comments from YouTube:

Giovanni Tiroldi

The last train is nearly due,
The underground is closing soon,
And in the dark deserted station,
Restless in anticipation,
A man waits in the shadows.

His restless eyes leap and scratch,
At all that they can touch or catch,
And hidden deep within his pocket,
Safe within its silent socket,
He holds a colored crayon.

Now from the tunnel's stony womb,
The carriage rides to meet the groom,
And opens wide and welcome doors,
But he hesitates, then withdraws
Deeper in the shadows.

And the train is gone suddenly
On wheels clicking silently
Like a gently tapping litany,
And he holds his crayon rosary
Tighter in his hand.

Now from his pocket quick he flashes,
The crayon on the wall he slashes,
Deep upon the advertising,
A single worded poem comprised
Of four letters.

And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding
The poem across the tracks rebounding
Shadowed by the exit light
His legs take their ascending flight
To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night.



Abhijit Dasgupta

A story starts with nothing
A story ends with nothing
In between I remain perplexed
The four letter word made me transfixed

The song came and gone
A dimly lit man half heartedly shown
In my dream I fear I hear
The scratching of the crayon that softly moan



Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Juan Maria Ramirez

Haphazard journal entry - entitled "** Me Two Times... Motherfucker!":

Do you remember that Simon & Garfunkel song, "A Poem on the Underground Wall"? I may not be a poet. But I'm a writer and a THINKER. FUCK IT. Poet, songwriter, novelist, play-write, screenwriter, it makes no difference. They all write, but most importantly: THEY THINK. But I digress. In this song, a man, a poet, a writer, a thinker wants something at the underground subway train. He wants it, but refrains himself. The train leaves. He is too late; he missed his chance!

The audacity of this poet! He can think, but cannot DO. That's what society tells you. That is bullshit. The train leaves and he writes his poem on the wall, one comprised of just a single four-lettered word. So what does our poet friend write on the wall? According to the history records of the people responsible for this song have told the whole world the answer... but nobody gives a flying fuck what the songwriters, producers, or what have you say of that matter. The public can always form their own perception, regardless of the artists. But I digress again. The point is that the song does NOT say what the poet wrote. I find I have a connection to this poet. This morning I was in solitary confinement of yet another writer's block. A writer thinks! So the writer's block tries to prevent you from doing that. But I mean, what the fuck? The block can't stop me from thinking, ever! I may not be writing yet. But I'm always thinking! But back to the poet for a moment. He wanted something, but was too much of a thinker. Naturally, this writer's block session on a lonely Thursday morning got me determined to not fall to the same fate as our enamored, but equally unnoticed poet. It is possible that I have already succumbed to the poet's penance. But by the grace of God I have been given multiple second chances. So... I think of you.

On this morning made for drifters, myself and the poet included, I prepared to strengthen myself. I don't have any shot glasses in the house or any way of measuring, besides my own intuition. So I grab a glass that looks small enough for a painless indulgence. The glass, when filled with the Irish whiskey, looks both small and big all at once. But looks aren't everything. I take the glass of whiskey and take it to my writing laptop as a reminder of the strength that is found in refraining, waiting, thinking your decisions through. Others may call this insecurity, but my conviction tells me otherwise.

So, I sit there and try to write. But I continue to think of you... I am like the poet. I want this... you.

But I am a thinker. And then, just like the poet, I rejoiced. I rejoiced because I thought and then I DID. The poet did and I did. We thought, we did, we knew and we wrote. On this drifter's morning, with the whiskey-golden sunlight, I was struck. At this particular moment, I was listening to "Love Me Two Times" by The Doors. The song was at that moment of entailing a singular connotation. Due to the morning sun's increasing brightness, I looked at the the golden whiskey and got up to turn on the lights in the room; the dark night has been long over. When the song by The Doors started, I was still thinking of you. I thought once for this particular writer's block session. As I got up to turn on the lights, I had a profound realization. I had thought two times, just like the Doors' song. As soon as I sat back down, I looked at the unconsumed whiskey, I looked at the laptop screen and its manifestation of writer's block. Then I thought of the two songs. Finally, I thought of you... And then I realized I succeeded like the poet. I went from thinking to DOING and KNOWING. Just for this single lonely Thursday morning, I defeated the writer's block...

I close off this spontaneous narrative with the acknowledgment of the two common readings of the poet's four-letter word: FUCK & LOVE. As I think of you... I ask both you and myself... What difference does it make?



All comments from YouTube:

Gregg Sauer

This album had so many very good songs on it I think this gets pushed to deep cut status. It was brilliantly written and performed. What little instrumentation the song had was very effective from the footstep beat intro/exit to the eerie keyboard. Love this song.

Vic Lemon

The poetry and imagery of this song has stayed with me all the years since they first recorded it.  S&G's music and lyrics expressed so much about who we were in those days.

Prismo

So.. based on this comment I can assume that all of you were running around in subways scribbling the word "FUCK" on the wall?

Music Genius

@beemelonhead1 🤭

GrowThingsToEat

History's most underrated poem.

Bobby May

At the age of 70 l remember every word and the memories of youth and friends in my teens. Like it was yesterday. Thx Simon and Garfunkel

Music Genius

Amazing🤗

AxSirlotl

I really began to appreciate Paul Simon's skill as a guitarist when I tried to learn this song.

noooddle

The rhythm capture the train so amazingly and the tension of moment.  In under two minutes.  This is really kind of stunning.

Jef P

Agreed as all hell lol if you're on Facebook- find me I'm under " Jef Leppard "

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