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Late afternoon another day is nearly done |
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A darker grey is breaking through a lighter one |
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A thousand sharpened elbows in the underground |
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That hollow hurried sound of feet on polished floor |
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And in the dollar store the clerk is closing up |
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And counting loonies trying not to say |
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I hate winnipeg |
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The driver checks the mirror seven minutes late |
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Crowded riders' restlessness enunciates |
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The guess who suck, the jets were lousy anyway |
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The same mood every day |
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And in the turning lane |
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Someone's stalled again |
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He's talking to himself |
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And hears the price of gas repeat his phrase |
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I hate winnipeg |
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Up above us all |
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Leaning into sky |
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Our golden business boy |
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Will watch the north end die |
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And sing 'i love this town' |
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Then let his arching wrecking ball proclaim |
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"I hate winnipeg" |
