The world walks here
Sitting in what they call beating contemporary -
I'm bored of it already
A year is just yesterday -
they have not forgotten
And the New Century has still only just begun
The valley yawns
Cold slumber undone -
the land has been left for dead
And the trees tell us the future -
they speak of God
Curled and twisted they fall upon themselves without their guise or blanket
The Starbox on the left holds their hipsters
Faux hawks and retro military coats -
Varsity jackets and knitting yarn
The radio news proves the youth is not lost -
I cry unknown and sleep through what they call ruckus
I heard this song six months ago, claiming
the Foreign Streets as my home.
