...Look out kid, there is a theatre down the alleyway
Get hitched, get wasted, get high, fall in love
When things are simple everything is words on someone's diary waiting
And hungry to be true, and truth is hardly born under control
It's what we feel, and to feel is to be human must've been written by some poet
And off the coast of some city when the handles of our bicycles collide
And when all the stupid world shrunk to your eyes and your dyed blue hair
I was not in control and how can I only think of that poet?
As roads felt short, time was waiting, space was yearning to be filled, the wind begins to shake the dozen trees that held up against the cold which was out to **** me
Everything was a poem and I was that poet.
I'm sure your heart is just a little poem I can read.
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 1:04 AM UTC
...Look out kid, there is a theatre down the alleyway
Get hitched, get wasted, get high, fall in love
When things are simple everything is words on someone's diary waiting
And hungry to be true, and truth is hardly born under control
It's what we feel, and to feel is to be human must've been written by some poet
And off the coast of some city when the handles of our bicycles collide
And when all the stupid world shrunk to your eyes and your dyed blue hair
I was not in control and how can I only think of that poet?
As roads felt short, time was waiting, space was yearning to be filled, the wind begins to shake the dozen trees that held up against the cold which was out to **** me
Everything was a poem and I was that poet.
I'm sure your heart is just a little poem I can read.
"Song of a poet who died in the gutter"
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