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Our father who art in a penthouse |
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Sits in his 37th floor suite |
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And swivels to gaze down |
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At the city he made me in |
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He allows me to stand and |
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Sollicit graffiti until |
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He needs the land i stand on |
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I in my darkened threshold |
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Am pawing through my pockets |
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The receipts, the bus schedules |
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The matchbook phone numbers |
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The urgent napkin poems |
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All of which laundering has rendered |
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Pulpy and strange |
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Loose change and a key |
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Ask me |
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Go ahead, ask me if i care |
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I got the answer here |
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I wrote it down somewhere |
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I just gotta find it |
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I just gotta find it |
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Somebody and their spraypaint got too close |
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Somebody came on too heavy |
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Now look at me made ugly |
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By the drooling letters |
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I was better off alone |
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Ain't that the way it is |
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They don't know the first thing |
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But you don't know that |
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Until they take the first swing |
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My fingers are red and swollen from the cold |
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I'm getting bold in my old age |
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So go ahead, try the door |
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It doesn't matter anymore |
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I know the weakhearted are strongwilled |
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And we are being kept alive |
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Until we're killed |
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He's up there the ice |
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Is clinking in his glass |
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I don't ask |
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I just empty my pockets and wait |
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It's not fate |
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It's just circumstance |
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I don't fool myself with romance |
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I just live |
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Phone number to phone number |
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Dusting them against my thighs |
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In the warmth of my pockets |
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Which whisper history incessantly |
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Asking me |
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Where were you |
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I lower my eyes |
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Wishing i could cry more |
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And care less, |
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Yes it's true, |
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I was trying to love someone again, |
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I was caught caring, |
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Bearing weight |
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But i love this city, this state |
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This country is too large |
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And whoever's in charge up there |
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Had better take the elevator down |
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And put more than change in our cup |
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Or else we |
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Are coming |
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Up |
