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the burns of our beginnings are gone in lights like these |
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orange white, they try to kill the night |
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get turned on for the streets |
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we could lay and give into them or pray for a small breeze |
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the city plan is already made up, crossed off with names of trees |
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that doesn't justify your wake |
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the fences have been covered, a coating that is clear |
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i've walked around and thought about back yards |
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there's nothing like that here |
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it's underneath the sidewalks and buried in your ear |
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how could i have set off all these alarms and never have been near |
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i don't care where you go |
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that doesn't justify your wake |
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the plow, the water turned |
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we'll finish out of place |
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we sought out the connection, the height of where we are |
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the building tops look down and make us hot, they don't seem very far |
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and all across the sidewalk |
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try not to look too hard |
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the broken glass cannot control itself, it makes fun of the stars |
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i don't care where you go |
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that doesn't justify your wake |
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the plow, the water turned |
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we'll finish out of place |
