The City

The teacher says write, So I write. But I don't really want to. I want to play in the street In the night While the roar of the city Drowns out the cries of the lost and the weary. But what the teacher says goes, So I write. I scribble the words That fall loose from the pen. They're crooked and bent And they don't mean a thing. How can they? They're just words. Words can't change anything. They can't change the city. They can't change the past or the future That none of us have. Sometimes I dream When the teacher isn't looking. Sometimes I dare to hope Just a little. That I might see a different city. A place where the people understand. Where they might say "hello" And where they don't make you write When you'd rather be playing In the street. And when I get home I go play in the street And I don't want to go home. Why should I? It's not really a home. I'll just play in these streets And dream And hope She says get out of the street. But this time I won't. I don't want to. I don't want to go home To the broken, empty room And the screams and the tears. She's yelling, but I don't care. As the man drives too fast And he doesn't see. The lost boy in the street Who dreams And hopes That one day he'll leave the city To a place where they say "hello."