In The City

In the city they know the words

to a tune, a rhythm, a dance stepped in thirds.

And they twirl, they whirl

a web of false dreams.

In the city, the truth is not what it seems.

And I moved to the city in the spring of '03,

and I was lost, lost without the smell of the sea.

In the city the salt-air is dust-smoke instead.

In the city, the very air you breath wants you dead.

In the city, they know what it's like to be gone.

I'm sick and fucking tired of this city-dream con.

Because in the city you starve and you live on the streets,

while they hold dances, and banquets, and feasts.

And at these parties they sing out the words to a tune,

whose three-quarter time-step will leave you in ruin.