This city is always cold and the wind blowing turns the world colder
Our fingers chattering and our breath shivering
The ache is ballooning and we are popping the balloons of lonesome children.
Children; block their eyes and sit them in front of cartoon television
A colourful world: wacky and freakish and Frightening -
A clockwork construction of spoon-feeding farm-grown cereals
out of cardboard boxes with surreal tasting.
Day Dreaming – on the couch and tattoo promises
Waiting for the Revolution of tomorrow
Kick us out of the house when the heat
burns the fire, burning toast and normality
Misfits under an oak tree.
Looking through the leaves
to breathe in the clouds
Quivering lungs and mechanical hearts
Swimming in smoke and sweat
Swinging on the swings trying to reach the sky
Swinging heads turning away from gardens
- Stories of goodbye.
Taste the blue Coldness of puddles in the street
Splishing and splashing and creeping
into our houses by latching onto our boots
A boot in the face
At least, that’s what I read once -
That one time when you stood next to me at a bus stand
Just the two of us but we didn’t breathe a word
The wisps of breath from our gasping mouths
longing and wanting
craving that human touch
that buzzing understanding and a Swirl
of a paintbrush across a Blank canvas
The Homeless Artist – cheapened
by the 9 to 5’s
A melody of lonely hate in a crowd
orbiting the madness and the Freaks
searching for the key to Utopia
We are electrified with every blink.
This city is waiting for them
to do what we are too afraid to do
Jingling in a pocket
the Change is loose
pour it into waiting, wilting open palms
pray for the best
forget about the rest
In this city we all are brushing shoulders
we are bumping into Strangers on purpose
passing the Tempest from hand to hand
shaking the mess and the well dressed
all stand in Silence – one more time.
Just one more chance to flip a coin
A second chance, a new start
to reCreate that which was once gold.
We have sold ourselves to the Salesmen
Our picket fences stab clean all that once was
We are leaking into the cracks of the side walk
Hiding in between concrete slabs
Breathing in stale liquor and exhaust fumes
Breathing into a paper bag
and the neighbours, hear them cackling
and the neighbours, hear them murdering
Looking out our windows from houses up on high hills
Looking out into the horizon – so mystical
Houses and backyards, buildings and cars
A limping leg and an atmosphere of scars.
Our fingers chattering and our breath shivering
The ache is ballooning and we are popping the balloons of lonesome children.
Children; block their eyes and sit them in front of cartoon television
A colourful world: wacky and freakish and Frightening -
A clockwork construction of spoon-feeding farm-grown cereals
out of cardboard boxes with surreal tasting.
Day Dreaming – on the couch and tattoo promises
Waiting for the Revolution of tomorrow
Kick us out of the house when the heat
burns the fire, burning toast and normality
Misfits under an oak tree.
Looking through the leaves
to breathe in the clouds
Quivering lungs and mechanical hearts
Swimming in smoke and sweat
Swinging on the swings trying to reach the sky
Swinging heads turning away from gardens
- Stories of goodbye.
Taste the blue Coldness of puddles in the street
Splishing and splashing and creeping
into our houses by latching onto our boots
A boot in the face
At least, that’s what I read once -
That one time when you stood next to me at a bus stand
Just the two of us but we didn’t breathe a word
The wisps of breath from our gasping mouths
longing and wanting
craving that human touch
that buzzing understanding and a Swirl
of a paintbrush across a Blank canvas
The Homeless Artist – cheapened
by the 9 to 5’s
A melody of lonely hate in a crowd
orbiting the madness and the Freaks
searching for the key to Utopia
We are electrified with every blink.
This city is waiting for them
to do what we are too afraid to do
Jingling in a pocket
the Change is loose
pour it into waiting, wilting open palms
pray for the best
forget about the rest
In this city we all are brushing shoulders
we are bumping into Strangers on purpose
passing the Tempest from hand to hand
shaking the mess and the well dressed
all stand in Silence – one more time.
Just one more chance to flip a coin
A second chance, a new start
to reCreate that which was once gold.
We have sold ourselves to the Salesmen
Our picket fences stab clean all that once was
We are leaking into the cracks of the side walk
Hiding in between concrete slabs
Breathing in stale liquor and exhaust fumes
Breathing into a paper bag
and the neighbours, hear them cackling
and the neighbours, hear them murdering
Looking out our windows from houses up on high hills
Looking out into the horizon – so mystical
Houses and backyards, buildings and cars
A limping leg and an atmosphere of scars.