I was born in the Summer of Sam --
Smaller and sooner than planned --
In the spitting image of a man
Raised by wolves on the fat of the land.
Clear of romance, beauty, and damned
Tomorrow will come if she can.
Just want a woman who can walk on a wire
With a trembling glass in her hand.
Over the hilltops the fire engine rolls,
Down the valley deeper still it goes;
Got my weapons out, I'm laying low
On this end of the telescope.
Alone, you ramble the whole of the world
Through black-water jungles for bliss.
It's feast or famine, you eat what you kill
There's no need to bring God into this.
My heart is heavy and pressed to the bone,
Some people too heavy to hold.
Salutations, take me as I am --
You can have me, or leave me alone.
Sun-kissed lemons in the graveyard below
Here in death you see new adventures grow.
I see you at last but mostly ghost,
On this end of the telescope.
This will not be easy
Word's out the doctor is not coming in
This genie is too angry to go back
Into the bottle again.
Closer than ever, and covered in birds
A bone-colored moon fills the west.
Now, throats will be slashed, and flags will unfurl
As time will divide us in gangs.
Now, years of progress digging the sand
Companions we made didn't last.
Now, lousy lovers do well with their hands
But I'll reach you like nobody can.
Now, slow and easy, you let your paddle go
Down a the bottom there is more hell to row.
I see clear at last: I love, I loathe,
On this end of the telescope.