He saw himself standing at the crossroad again
Crossroads, they always keep him funny
When going home is no more a choice
When friendship is no more comforting
When things are necessarily not right
Let’s make a drink for the Uptown boy
How come you always speak of scars and pains?
He is a pseudo, a drama maybe.
Who knows his biggest fear is pseudo itself?
From coffee, marijuana and the no battery sign
From talking and talking and talking
From broken hearts to broken bones
From adversaries to the unknown
From thirty seconds to eleven minutes
It’s not his story it’s really his own
Who says its devil? its maybe just evil
Falling down and digging graves
Only to find oneself at the mausoleum door
For those who died way too young
For those who left the loved ones
For those who were never born
For those who could never walk this earth
He ain’t no Saint Jimmy
For he lacks all the rage and the eyeliner
For he never walked across the road
For he never felt the cold.
No comments:
Post a Comment