Spent a lot of time this year,
Banging on about the industry of making life better.
At the level of the street,
With all these vacant spaces.
These faded lines we're taking,
Keep us tired and silent.
And the people half asleep.
So take these loans we can't repay,
To rent these so called homes.
These streets are asylums where we display,
Our bruises and broken bones.
I've spent a lot of time this year.
Reading all about it.
Same old story.
A deadline we can't meet.
A letter left unposted,
To silence every protest.
I'll praise the day we make a promise we can keep.
To keep back the worry,
Release the same retreat to yours, or mine (whichever's closest)
So watch as we untie,
And then float away.
This time for certain to never return again.
I think this sounds familiar.
Have we said this before?
Does this sound familiar?
We're always parting ways.