|
The blossoms are falling, |
|
Making a white path across the grass |
|
Thunderheads are building, your skin tightens |
|
And you wait for the flash |
|
Across the street, the boys are laughing |
|
As they wash each other's cars |
|
They turn up the hip-hop |
|
White boys |
|
Rapping with the black stars |
|
Are you in the pocket of the moment in this particular second |
|
Screwed into the socket of the moment in this particular second |
|
Where time cannot be reckoned |
|
Are you in the pocket of the moment |
|
Overhead a rumble, it's not thunder, |
|
It's a 747 |
|
The postman grumbles, it's past eleven |
|
The street is sixth |
|
It should be seventh |
|
You hear the chiming of the ice cream truck |
|
Rambling like in a dream |
|
I hear your footsteps behind me |
|
The sweetest eddy in the stream |
|
Are you in the pocket of the moment in this particular second |
|
Screwed into the socket of the moment in this particular second |
|
Where time cannot be reckoned |
|
Are you in the pocket of the moment |
|
Are you in the pocket of the moment in this particular second |
|
Screwed into the socket of the moment in this particular second |
|
Where time cannot be reckoned |
|
Are you in the pocket of the moment |
|
Are you in the pocket of the moment in this particular second |
|
Screwed into the socket of the moment in this particular second |
|
Where time cannot be reckoned |
|
Are you in the pocket of the moment |
