Antistar League (The)
West 62
Along indian summer stretches Of orange highways west The sunbeams dancing to slient songs Of memory and disappointment Kiss the ground, all the stories it owns In tangled, rusted arms. Desperation is something different. Our dignified dreams of dying young. Lonelyness is a Sunday afternoon with no sun and less to do. A dream of you I can't get back into Lost to air and split in two. Against indian summer stretches I'll fall into cynical sleep. Hope slips away through the same-old days And lonelyness is this town's name A thousand tired offramps Across the richest country in the world Where gonowhere jobs and threedeckers Seep into us like cheap alchoal. Wait for escape in 4/4 time, In the town where you were born Where everyone is sad and proud By the time they're twenty-four. Clutching a beer and a few hopes With dirty fingernails.
From Letras Mania