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On The Streets I Ran
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Morrissey
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Oh a working class face glares back
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At me from the glass and lurches
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Oh forgive me, on the streets I ran
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Turned sickness into popular song
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Streets of wet black holes
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On roads you can never know
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You never have been but they always have you
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Till the day that you croak
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ItÒ‘s no joke
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Oh a working class face glares back
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At me from the glass and lurches
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Oh forgive me on the streets I ran
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Turned sickness into unpopular song
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And all these streets can do
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Is to claim to know the real you
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And warn if you donÒ‘t leave you will kill or be killed
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Which isnÒ‘t very nice
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Here everybodyÒ‘s friendly
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But nobodyÒ‘s friends
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Oh dear God, when will I be where I should be
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And when the palmist said
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"One Thursday you will be dead"
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I said: "No, not me, this cannot be
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Dear God, take him, take them, take anyone
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The stillborn
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The newborn
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The infirm
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Take anyone
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Take people from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
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Just spare me!"
Morrissey - Suedehead
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