Because I'd like to think I'm simple folk
Drinking
And talking about jobs and loss and clothes and sex
Forget existentialism
Listen to the road as my wheels run over too many cracks
too many bumps
Too pale a concrete
For too many hills
to too much grass
and shattered windows
With sagging roofs
and aged exteriors
Along the same street that has all the identical sagged roofs, aged exteriors and shattered windows
Why not adapt?
