Where The Streets Have No Name
by the Sunday Colors

The money’s pretty good, I can’t complain
I stay inside most everyday
I write letters so no one will see my face
The nurses come by but they don’t meet my gaze
No-one ever does

Have a rare burst of clarity so I walk to the park
Most days I don’t show my husk until long after dark
A mother’s child approaches me while I’m sitting at the bench
He points at my skin and he asks the only question
No-one ever does

Let the wolves come tumbling out the back of the van
Sniffing out their traces on the desert plain
Paper fortress rises maybe, somewhere in Kansas
Where the air is dust and the city streets have no name

Mom says, “son, why’d you have to go and turn out this way?”
She hides her tears but blames herself for everything
There was never any reason to worry
I was gonna be lonely anyway

Cold metal barrel on my tongue, I hum a simple tune
In my heart I know these old and awful songs will guide me through
I lay down on my belly sprawled against the cork wood floor
Past the point of no return I listen to the rising squall beyond the door