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Look at our young faces |
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They're growing older with each moment |
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Harder and less beautiful |
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With every word we say |
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Stumbling over bridges |
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And through the backstreets |
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Waiting for something |
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But we don't know what |
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It could be a promise |
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It could be passion |
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Eternal life |
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Or instant death |
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Wading through rubbish |
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And dodging choc-a-block cars |
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Through the door and up the stairs |
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We'll find some moments of happiness |
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Between sheets we've known so often |
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The warmest place in this hostile town |
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Afterwards, through dust and comfort filled eyes |
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We can look upwards |
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And almost stare at the stars |
