Now we live in an old fleabag apartment
where pigeon shit is copied and pasted
all over. It's ugly, otherwise we like it: You
can almost see the river, there's a good
bar near, and we know a couple people.
But if we were food, this is how we'd be
farmed: In sky-scraping brick cages with
windows to expensive stuff. And if they
milk us for a little bit more, baby, that
could be ours! Well, listen! Nobody's
here to make any friends. And I just
want to be your lover; that's all I ever
wanted from this place that wants
nothing from us
I wish I could say that I moved to New York
for a dream, but it was on a lark. The world
has no use for another fuckin' idiot who aims
to do no harm but can't help anyone. All is lost!
Jail couldn't be worse suffering ... but I couldn't
hurt anyone!
I walk around rapping my tin cup, just
a-wonderin' what I'm a-gonna do ...
and I wonder if, in jail, men dream too?