Back on Barclay Street in Tribeca,
feeling the midnight winds strongly in my post-Mumford-and-Sons world.
Gusts as loud as a locomotive under an island
so I shout out words that bear simultaneous feelings
of escapism and homebound comfort.
of escapism and homebound comfort.
Back on my bullshit
of trying to be the bigger bastard
but who the hell do I think I am?
Writing spite at dive bars,
clutching club soda because I don't drink anymore,
but I still like this world better.
I can't live in the gutters any longer
but I like to visit the mire
on lonely windy midnights.