The grass of the ocean

This train moves in motion, the type of movement that catches railings and sends you swaying side to side. Like the under water grass in the ocean, controlled by the waves. Unable to feel, unable to breath. The passer by just stares with their beaty eyes, questioning the existence of man. They swarm the submarines like bears on honey. Escaping like bubbles from an oxygen mask. Their educated mutters sound like grunts and sighs. Each strand of grass grasps onto the nearest rock holding on for dear life. This is the movement of the train.