The traffic says go ahead often storms stop us instead
Think twice it's alright, or stare ahead confused
Talk about the streets, the steel house is holding me
Born on the motion, running with the fumes
Holding the gun, you're on the other end of the muzzle with a point of view
A poignant beer can be barreling in the storm, hopeless timbre in the soul made of metal and cradling civilization
We are made of flesh and bones, not bones made by working-class men working their solitary days
Clutching spades and digging quarries night night
The talk of streets and the stares are coming my way, and I can carry the weight
He's short
He's my brother
On the cover of a Panama canal
Virile and vivacious, flow out of the other side of America
Kid, change my mind
Before we move apart because o'