When the summer sun comes cuttin' like a new razor blade and i wake to the day and all the visions i've made, reach out my hand for the curl of her hair and whisper my dreams to the girl who's not there; but laying in her stead, the sweater she wore long ago, that i lay on my bed each night before to dreams i go.
But it's grown a bit tattered and is riddled with holes.
Quite like my ambition, my vision, my goals.
So i put on my face and fix me a drink 'cause somewhere someone knows just what i think.
Each night's but a question that hangs like a noose around my throat.
But surely tonight i'll invite its abuse. there's no hope.
But oh my, somehow i still might get by.
Get through all the pains i fake.
Poor boy could use a break, a break from the daily game show.
"pain is something no one else knows."
That's what i hear them say.
So warily i walk away.
And i take to the streets like the dead to the grave and light me a smoke 'cause its right to behave.
And i'm all juiced up on morning 'cause morning is when heroes stand tall in the statues of men.
And all the pigeons adore me and peck at my feet, oh the fame.
And someday they may use my head as a seat.
Well i cant wait æwhen i die, lord, bury me deep.
Way out west past sunset street, so i can hear old 29 as she goes rollin' by; and when they come to claim my skin and i go back where i began, with a jug of punch at my head and feet, tell them all i've gone to sleepæand as the city unravels her metal bed roll i dirty her streets with the stumble i stroll.
And the people all stop just to watch me go by with a thirst in my throat and a tear in my eye.
So riddle me this while i lend you my soul in a song, and shoulder the sky in these troubles of mine until the dawn.