Author Information
Street Song
Pimps and Players and Prostitutes
Shuckle and jive and skinny dip down
Red slickers pulled up against the flying music
Sensors overloaded and drinks are on the dead guys
Feeling fine, feeling high
The streets are written in the pavements
Always saying your late, late with your payments
Meeting with your daddy-longlegged partners
On the amber waves of darkness
And the lights are about to flicker out
The song, an ode to the ashes, blazes onward
To the outskirts of town, into dizzy whirlpools
And even a blind eye can see this story is written
On every gutter and dead-end, in every canister
In blood and graffiti and chalk-line maker
The police lines yellow paragraph breakers
The gloaming a wave of nausea crashing
A sea of fear, gold-glittered bottle dreams smashing
And the streets are written in the pavements
Always saying your late, late with your payments
Meeting with your daddy-longlegged partners
On the amber waves of darkness
And the police are the X-files with guns
Or maybe X-men mutants...I forget which one
Swooping down in a flurry of light
Shattering your silent narcotic nights
They can see into your eyes the fidgeting fingers
Flare of signals, which one is racing down
Trying to catch up with the sound of a heart beating
One thump and an alle-oop of the other, two tigers wrestling
Until something bursts like a cymbal crash and you face is caught between the busy gnash of glass and stone and broken bones...
Darkening secrets are written in the pavements
Always saying your late, cant make this downpayment
Meeting with your daddy on the sidewalk
On the amber waves of darkness in his small talk
Home is still waiting, on the shore, a million dreams away from here, in a bright bubble, surely, there is hope on the tide, washing it clean, always washing away the nightmares, the darkness of the street.
