On somebody or other’s departure to Czerniowice on train 382, coach 13, couchette 52

When I lie to you, nothing happens
and it’s that fig withered from the roots up.
We walked past and you said try it
so I said, go, fig, but it didn’t leave
so I said, fig, dance, but it wouldn’t dance
so I said, fig, stand still while I cut you down
and guess what happened and how good it was.