James C. Westley
the capturer
she sits bolt upright in her lawn chairshe chain smokes cigarettes and flips back her hair.she is the capturer of all that is true.at least that which flows from me and from you.she breathes out the smoke she breathes in the flame.she's a hell of a promoter with much joy to claimas of yet.she's no ones pet.the corner she sits on is quite festivethe hood boys look at her as she gazes at the rest of themthe houses are all odd colorsthe streets are all cracked.it looks like a war zone the windows are smashed.that block needs a motherlike chaos needs ordersome dont wish to bother.they go live on the bordereveryones shoulder needs a hand onbut it looks like this place might finally be abandoned.
Aus Songtexte Mania