|
And I wake to the wail |
|
Like moan of a bus as it groans to a standstill |
|
Around the block from the place that I'll leave soon |
|
Four bulbs later, bulbs from the lamp that my dad bought me |
|
So I'll hit the ground running and tear up the streets |
|
But complain about my face and the pain in my feet |
|
As I notch up another year until we're all past it |
|
And the noose around my neck's tightened too much to take |
|
And I wake to the wail |
|
Like moan of a bus as it groans to a standstill |
|
Around the block from the place that I'll leave soon |
|
Four bulbs later, bulbs from the lamp that my dad bought me |
|
So I'll hit the ground running and tear up the streets |
|
But complain about my face and the pain in my feet |
|
As I notch up another year until we're all past it |
|
And the noose around my neck's tightened too much to take |
|
The noose around my neck has tightened too much to take |
