Oh a working class face glares back
At me from the glass and lurches
Oh forgive me, on the streets I ran
Turned sickness into popular song
Streets of wet black holes
On roads you can never know
You never have been but they always have you
Till the day that you croak
Its no joke
Oh a working class face glares back
At me from the glass and lurches
Oh forgive me on the streets I ran
Turned sickness into unpopular song
And all these streets can do
Is to claim to know the real you
And warn if you dont leave you will kill or be killed
Which isnt very nice
Here everybodys friendly
But nobodys friends
Oh dear God, when will I be where I should be
And when the palmist said
One Thursday you will be dead
I said No, not me, this cannot be
Dear God, take him, take them, take anyone
The stillborn
The newborn
The infirm
Take anyone
Take people from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Just spare me!