Makeshift Lullaby At A Loss
From the walls and streets of Astor Place,
to the serenity of my saving grace,
to the graffiti tattooed on the walls of my mind,
I'm thinking about the better days
when we fit together in every way but, these days,
it seems that feeling is so hard to find.
But I'm a long way from home,
and this argument is over.
Now I'm hanging up the phone.
Because, on and on, we sing this song,
pretending that we know its true meaning.
It's a metaphor for the way we are,
speaking our words in tongue.
But the points just seem to evaporate
as we go along.
I breathe in the air of memory
as I make my way down this crowded street,
without an image or a care in my head.
The evening breaks and triggers street lights
under this moonlit summer sky,
and it paints a portrait of orange and red.
Still, I'm a long way from home,
and to understand this decision,
I'll take this walk alone.
Because, on and on, we sing this song,
pretending that we know its true meaning.
It's a metaphor for the way we are,
speaking our words in tongue,
but the points just seem to evaporate
as we go along.
Well, I wish you wouldn't be so vain,
and I wish you weren't associated with my name.
How much longer must we play this game...
another week, another year,
another time span mapped with fear?
Another month, another day?
You never mattered anyway.
Because on and on, we sing this song,
pretending that we know its true meaning.
It's a metaphor for the way we are,
speaking our words in tongue,
but the points just seem to evaporate
as we go along.
