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This city,
Where I was born in the streets.
Damn near died trying to live in the buildings.
Driving the streets lately, all I feel is sadness.
A lost, out of sorts, and misplaced feeling.
The streets I know, but not the buildings.
I watch all flow by the panes.
Like a river, the eyes watering the stumble.
I watch the town flow by through the panes.
Blurry faces on the flow of time.
It use to be happiness.
Now I only feel like a begotten gear rattling around in the bottom of the machine of time.
This city's streets gave birth to me.
The city's buildings gave me the death bed.
Out in the country gazing back, I take notice.
I know the streets but not the buildings.
It has grown just as I have.
This city where I was born, but the seashore country is where I came to life.