There’s streets, streets, streets, streets,
Endless streets ahead of me,
Black tar bleeding into cracks,
Stretching farther than eyes can see.
They go on without mercy,
without a name, without end,
Just more streets, streets, streets, streets,
No turning, no bend.

I walk ’til my soles are thin
like paper peeled from stone.
Feet dragging through the dirt,
‘cause no one walks alone.
There’s bottles smashed in gutters,
and faces in the rain,
All strangers to each other,
tied together by the same **** pain.

Keep walking, man. Just walk.
Don’t stop for the moon.
It’s a liar like the rest.
And dawn? It’s coming too soon.
A cigarette burns like hope,
and ashes fall like dreams,
On these streets, streets, streets, streets—
nothing’s ever what it seems.

There’s streets ahead and streets behind,
and neither way feels right.
But still you march, just march along,
in the dead and sleepless night.
Through alleys of the hopeless,
and avenues of pride,
It’s streets, streets, streets, streets,
and nowhere left to hide.

So walk, man, just keep walking.
That’s all that you can do.
Because streets don’t end,
they only stretch—
And somehow,
so do you.