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
