| Chipped paint; |
| Carol’s gonna turn into dust.
|
| An old saint; |
| A silver surface worn into rust
|
| From long nights in a neighborhood I started to trust.
|
| To you, it’s just Scotch Tape and a heightened sense of cowardly pride,
|
| A u-lock (some entitlement to keep by your side),
|
| A felt pen, a detour from your morning ride
|
| And what’s left behind with your note.
|
| It’s the reason I’ll be running so late.
|
| A fine point to write off what I’ll draw on today
|
| And draft out the storyline to acting my age.
|
| To which I say:
|
| Have you ever felt your perfect teeth
|
| Make a connection with Chicago concrete?
|
| It’s messed up. |
| You always can become what you hate.
|
| It’s bad luck or intention for attention’s sake.
|
| It’s so fucked that you couldn’t say this straight to my face.
|
| Have you ever felt your perfect teeth
|
| Make a connection with Chicago concrete?
|
| Do gears change as often as the seasons?
|
| Is there a cycle set to breathe in?
|
| Is this the part of me I’ll forget?
|
| A chained fence, the cement
|
| Where a casual promise can become a threat.
|
| Chipped paint; |
| Carol’s gonna turn into dust.
|
| An old saint; |
| A silver surface worn into rust
|
| From long nights in a neighborhood I started to trust.
|
| To me, it’s just messed up you always can become what you hate.
|
| It’s bad luck or intention for attention’s sake.
|
| It’s so fucked that I couldn’t say this straight to your face.
|
| To which you’ll say:
|
| Have you ever felt your perfect teeth
|
| Make a connection with Chicago concrete?
|
| Do gears change as often as the seasons?
|
| Is there a cycle set to breathe in?
|
| Is this the part of me you’ll forget? |