Chasing trains in borrowed jackets,
pay my rent like I'm speed racer.
Making friends with all the crack heads
and chased down alleys by teenagers.
Running from my past like a spirit,
but I don't believe in it.
Let it pass.
Do I recognize the face in the glass? (No!)
Go outside? Or stay in and hide.
Wanna ask you how you're doing
but if I'm being honest, I won't be
writing down any of the answers.
Sharing's a feeling best served Warm and Light/Warm at Night/
Try my best to make something special,
but a costuming kestrel.
The starling hides.
There is a rhythm to being alive.
It's like the tide going out to the side.
This is the sound of malcontent.
Erase it and begin again.