Skinny little brats Walking down Avenue A Dangling their cigarettes Their Independence Day Tears like filigrees Wear them on their sleeves Nobody's main squeeze It's thirty-five degrees
Poetry of ordinary life is what I live for They just wanna be seen They just wanna be heard...said
My words are like Confetti And you never pick them up They fall to the ground I need someone to lift me up
So diaphanous so ephemeral And all those bad words They never learned in school Groovy like my mamma was In her black turtle neck She was so high strung She was so low tech
Poetry and tattooed dreams And fourteen caret nose rings The children of elite Are trying to be street saying
My words are like confetti And you never pick them up They fall to the ground I need someone to lift me up
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