im airplane high in a city air and imstraight up stomping away my lower back blues
i cant get up to where the air is so thin
that the tin can crushes and my lungs fail
it all seems like a messy mile spread
people with their hands and feet living a
sidewalk language
one way streets so my head only turns
one way
and watches the lights for the go ahead sign
these piss watched streets
where the trains breeze by
only beneath
but its not so much the feel of this place
philadelphia pa in the late summer when its
learning time
its the detached crunch of a backdraft of time
as, "i want to be a doctor lawyer fireman when i grow up"
is just a smoke signal
and secretly im cringing
finding things to do like an unnatural hobby
this is the start of a greater thing?
i keep pulling off my cigarette
wondering why the pretty girls always show skin
and the good ones are somewhere hiding
and i find all the places to look
except at the people
i dont want to forcefeed myself an easy explanation
but the what without the why never suffices
but the why is always a trickle down lie.
-nicole