| «Where you from?» |
| he asks*
|
| «Oh no, that city I always pass»
|
| He told me he heard it’s so hard to last
|
| On a rising star, that seems to be sinking fast
|
| The bad news travels here so fast
|
| While the tales of the good never will reach the mass
|
| But I live here among the broken glass
|
| It’s not what you see, it’s how you will make it last
|
| From the late light after all the day is gone
|
| When everybody leaves and the trouble comes along
|
| There’s not quite a welcome sign aglow
|
| It’s a rough town man, a rough town I know
|
| The sound bites of dying city noise
|
| Are a fraction of the action that no one here enjoys
|
| If you hold tight and you listen past the lows
|
| It’s a rough town now, it’s my rough town I know
|
| «Hold your tongue, man» I say
|
| ‘Cause it’s easy to scoff and underestimate
|
| All the things you can’t relate to
|
| Is the fabric I keep my memories sewn to |