What's with this place?
And what's with the common day?
This city is sometimes wretched.
Will I waste away?
Or take off for a dream?
I hurt, this work, makes me tired of her, and her rotation. I'll make the river eat her up
if the rain doesn't get here first.
My hands are torn as the day before
and sometimes I break.
I can dream of a day that I won't do this anymore.
It's hard to see but we're breaking up
and all we need right now is to let go.
And just sing the the words to a song we know
until we find the street to home.
And I let go.