Well, My Street is hopelessly concrete.
While I'm fit with lead feel,
and you're running circles around me.
And I'm on the highway to ghosts
and retiring early 'cause I've been so jealous of you now.

The last time,
when you ran for the last time.
If you are what you eat...
eyes, my feet and ten pounds of lies.
I realize,
I'm on the highway to ghosts
and retiring early 'cause I've been bent over admiring your form and findings.
Your hands and your writings.

And you're everything I wish I was.
You float like a fairy.
You're unaware of anything I'm thinking of
and it's so square that you're unaware of everything.