Bob Mould
Surveyors And Cranes
Surveyors and cranesAnd all that remains is a creek whereThe water runs away when the rain begins to fallA golden retreatAn idyllic surrounding, Mother's gone madFrom the ennui of parking in the same spot every daySuburbanites know there's no turning backThey fell for the siren song ofCompilations heavy in rotation at the mallAnother Old NavyA few less trees, I guess it's not wrong to wantYour own little piece of the American dreamI'm driving a vehicleBigger than my father's OldsmobileAt least 30 miles each wayPassing by surveyors and cranesI wonder out loud:When will this traffic die down?If they would expand this road to 10 lanesMaybe I could get homeNow I sit by the riverBut not in my quadrant, there's no river hereThere's no way to get away from hereIn a couple of years, there'll beLetras de cancionesMore buildings a few miles from herePushing out the trailer park beyond the reservationAnd, the freeway's collapsingA constant reminder of plans gone awrySpeculators watching real estate investments going dryThe sewers are full of disposable diapersAs landfills appear, tucked upNeat against the driveway of the corporate farm
From Letras Mania