We float cold between sea and sky Talking politics with men who had their destinies sold He looks at me and I start to cry I’m no Peter Pan, But I sure as hell ain’t getting old.
Little raven Touch your feet On something solid My nightly treat Little beat, Follow home When everything Is said and done Little one I’ve become Black and broken Another stolen.
As night shades From blackest blue To bluest black The feeling fades To something true They won’t come back As I trade My sordid fear The numb detracts And I wait For it to happen
It all ticks away In my little playground There are some beautiful spots Beneath the tall dark mountains Between the dirty box houses Rainbows turn to grey In my little playground
Sitting on the public grass Talking happily Although my words are sparse Everyone knows I can't speak properly Maybe That's why I'm the last asked to leave The last asked for by name Maybe