the streets, the streets, the sheets
the streets are what the lonely call a friend,
the streets where money is found
in the oily drinks leaking from the cars and
happiness is within the microfibre layers of newspaper
decked out like papier-mâché on the front steps of a barber's to catch
loose hairs and feelings.
bet your money on whatever you want,
make sure you drink some water,
holy shit,
it's getting hot in here,
make the neon lights flash a little faster,
make the pages flip a little faster,
the heat's rising like the meter reader on my benz,
it's getting higher than the red balloons,
i've lost the strings,
keep tapping out that rhythm,
i need a new life,
i need a new chain,
i need a crow's nest to see the future from,
i need a new ship to sail from,
i need a new cliff to dive off,
i need a new way to get stuck on,
(instead of you),
i need a station to stay tuned to,
i'm filled with static.
