tired faces from wasted places
riding under avenues
on the edge of drunken reason
with a paycheck and some food
staring into sunken ships and ghost towns
in empty packs of cigarettes i found on the ground
and the quiet night, shifts like winter's wild winds
and condemns my eyes from moving up
in the still of the night
abandoned logic with light
well listen flakes
things are worse
as the ghosts of the city street
there's a silent scene of shadows that dance in the light
a cinema screen of manhattan
in the scene of the night
over the sewer and under the trees and into my pockets for something to breathe and the
smoke always looks so good in the cold
in the still of the night
abandon logic with light
well listen flakes
yeah things are worse
as the ghosts of the city street
the night has descended and has drowned
the shivering sunlight out with quiet sounds
of crackling earth,
has come up through the park
on a quiet quest for reason in the dark