Punched at the Turnstile

Lyrics

[Intro]
The paper stock is cool in my palm.
Just for a second.
Smells like machine oil.
And a little like ozone, from the fire inside the gate.

[Verse 1]
They printed you at the Cubic Corporation.
A little rectangle of permission.
US Patent 3,691,527, that's your soul.
A dark magnetic stripe, holding one clean trip.
One way through.
From here to there.
Before the overwrite. Before the heat.

[Chorus]
And you slide into the slot.
The jaws bite down.
Warmth blooms across your back, a permanent digital scar.
Voided. Spent.
Punched at the turnstile.
You gave me my ride and they erased you for it.

[Verse 2]
I remember a day like this.
Powell Street Station. August, 1974.
The air thick and humid, just like now.
The ticket came out of the machine feeling hot.
Already branded with its own end.
A timestamp burned into its memory.
A future grave it had to carry to the gate.

[Chorus]
And you slide into the slot.
The jaws bite down.
Warmth blooms across your back, a permanent digital scar.
Voided. Spent.
Punched at the turnstile.
You gave me my ride and they erased you for it.

[Bridge]
Somewhere in the dark, a technician in 1981 turned a dial.
Set the voltage just so.
To make sure you could never be used again.
To make sure you would jam the works.
Jack R. Williams smiled on September 11, 1972.
He cut a ribbon, and sent the first of you to die.
For every rider who got through, one of you was left behind.
A complaint log with no names.
Just a number. Just a ghost.

[Outro]
I'm through.
And you're on the floor by the trash can.
The stripe is overwritten.
The hole is punched clean through.
Your one life is over.
Overwritten.