The city's grey and full of shit,
Lonely cash and nothingness.
You can't tell the seasons change
Till someone dies and you know its winter.
Some people have all the money.
Some people have all the guns.
Some people have all the empty cans.
some people have all the fun.
And every town comes to the ground some day
From fires, riots, tsunamis, or earthquakes.
And you can't make a salad out of those credit cards
or a stirfry from a check.
And history will be a mystery till someone
Dives into the wreck and tells their truth.
And you're trying to find yourself in a world of hungry ghosts,
Traffic lights, surveillance cameras, unreliable hosts.
Feeding off the trash of centuries of excess,
And you'll never find it unless
You're crushed under ten tons of your dissatisfaction
And you remind yourself that change is the product of your own action.
Not something you can get at a store, shit, you can't even steal it.
And the more callouses on your hands the better you can feel it.
Ain't that strange?
That city is a nightmare you're trying to wake up from
Nothing matters there, you can fuck yourself up proper like you've done
And you'll keep falling on the pavement, you're never gonna get out
Until you get up off the pavement and get out.
And everyone falls to the ground someday
From gravity or just needing a new place to stay,
And you can't bomb your blues away
You can't smoke out the demons squatting your head
You can't make a home out of words you haven't even said
So tell me something new.