In the street I am,
Walking, walking,
Looking, looking,
Around.

Picking up sounds.
Rush, sooty, loud.
Forming a cloud,
Vibrating the ground.

And when time no longer meets,
Then the roar of the streets,
Drowns all kinds of beats.

I’m plunging into the depths of my soul,
To find something made out of coal,
So my candle's flame would finally ignite,
And the streets' lamps could find the light.

In the street,
I am, looking, looking,
Walking, walking,
Around.

I know, know, what that means, I know.
I'm watching every flash of ambiguity grow.
I'm hearing whispers of happiness go.

The light is dim,
The shadows dark,
The faces blurred,
The voices bark.

I'm watching, watching,
People in the street, passing,
By me, with familiar faces, walking, walking.

I'm meeting with the pleasure of injustice on their face,
And bits of pleasure are lost with every pace.
I see thoughts of all types,
Fears, angers, hopes and doubts.

The light gets brighter,
The shadows grow long.
I want to know,
I want to know,
Where does the pleasure go?
Where the thoughts I see around are born?
And what, what, what have they borne?

Their hearts crippled and lame,
Spewing hatred and blame,
You will surely be ashamed,
Of what became of them.

I wonder if ever they were stronger for love,
But all that’s remained now, is one wounded dove.
On the side of the freeway, covered in soot,
Many have come and gone, not one of them put
The dove in a shelter, a harbour, a port.

I’m daydreaming,
I'm wondering,
Mumbling a prayer,
From the blackness of their despair
I can see their strength is bare.

I find it sourly funny,
But bitterly sad.
The faces are dark and barking and mad.
Wearing a sorrow and weariness clad.

Harmony? Maybe, a certain kind,
But it is teeming with wildlife on every side.