One night fated to be slept
on the streets of Drab City
turns out lasts entire generations
We both drop dead
hungry each night
under foreign stars
Hair matted and mashed into the sidewalk glue
grime, spit, snot, olive pits, ashes, spoiled cream
We sleep huddled in the thinnest linens and dream
startlingly beautiful stuff
like ships with eight sails
and fifty canons mooring at the quay
or even just Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous
When the landlord pays a visit he arrives
cheerful and singing in a flute like voice
an underdeveloped, simple and predictable tune
He wears boots like Robin Leach
And at the back of the skull
Wakes us with a kick
Then we’re off and away digging
other people’s ditches all day
We’re staring out the big window
in thisTurkish bakery
on the dirty boulevard
after sunset
blank, silent
and sucking the last of the grounds
Probably everyone around here wants us to die
Our feelings are unfashionable
Creative little groups of artists and influencers pass
carrying uniquely scented wallets
Everybody’s got nice stuff but me
I want a stereo I want a TV
Well I guess that’s everything
Avoid the authorities, live free, then die when it’s cool
Sincerely,
Drab City
