to the fickle let it drop we have the power to sustain like the motor needs the food to bring real power to our brain now we bought it back so let me make it plain since our mother s gone it always seems to rain and the booze and the friends and the party never ends no excuse for behavior that no one can defend we reflect in the quiet times inside our heads and get thanks for our children tucked up sweetly in their beds inside their heads trickling water dripping down slow like some rivers without a sound passed many times since you were at my side i m still here but i keep you deep inside with my hands across the water with my two feet in the sea my fear is for my daughters but will god wash over me take our lambs off to the slaughter take their lives so perfectly like your bricks are filled with mortar cast your wisdom to the brede cracks and falt lines new york city talks to me slow like some re runs on our mother s t v new york city she speaks to me in tongues keeps me to her breast pumps air into my lungs 
['new wave pop', 'urban contemporary']