| America (not the one on the tour) |
| Cross your fingers In my world of edges- Of lines in the sand. I don�t think of tomorrow Because tonight Decides my fate. Down the street The Devil makes his way Easily enough without His mask. We are but a glint in his eye The streets are crowded With hundreds Just like us. He only smiles with delight As we caged birds Flap amid the bars. A shot in the night, The end of my story, As the gun smoke dissolves into the air, The smell hangs thick An urban funeral pyre. |