Half past nine in the middle of a Wednesday morning sneaker parade The city sweats with the heat and the smoke and all the urban decay A boy is running with a broken arm A dog is dreaming of a distant farm And everybody that is here just wants to kill each other Its killing me Whats Wednesday want from me I dont really wanna know Whatever Wednesday wants By Thursday Ill have found a way to go Paper tigers on the magazine racks Their mouths are roaring with rage Old bag lady with a coffee sits there reading from a torn out page Another thief is trying to make a break A man is crying out for goodness sake The garbage turns into an ocean as the dirty gutter spills on the street No more concrete jungle prisons Ill be going home
wednesday, sneaker, want, decay, roaring