These busy streets have become his home Some are dirt and some are stone The world wears the soles of his shoes like a parking lot Each day brings half of what yesterday lost
Here moments dont last, or least arent the same Clouds have him by chains, around the city he is dragged But it wasn't untill he made it to the sea, on money he begged That my reflection revealed how far I've strayed
So alone I sit with a beard on my chin, with a case at my feet A pocket of spare change to replace my guitar strings I only sing the words i believe in Im the artist starving
