I walk the streets and hug the walls
I see a canal and think ‚waterfalls‘
And there are numbers, long distance numbers I could call
And there are faces, long distance faces I can’t recall, around here at all.
I see the shops and I walk on by
My soup-stained vest my critical eye
And given two choices, two clear choices, I take both
And there are secrets that I could tell but I won’t, no I won’t.
I got a notebook and I got a light
My head is loose, my jacket’s tight
A poet walks and the path is bright.
And there are visions like a spell I can’t break
I can’t break, I can’t break
A poet walks through the streets past canals and retreats and the fog
A poet walks shits and talks just a thought a passing thought.
To walk past all the loves that I’ve known, past all the lives I’ve outgrown
The skin and the bone
To know every decision that I made was my own and pre-ordained.
To roll up and to save.