morrissey - on the streets i ran | Текст песни

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ON THE STREETS I RAN
(Morrissey/Tobias)

A working-class face glares back
at me from the glass, and lurches:
“oh, forgive me, on the streets I ran
turned sickness into popular song.”

Streets of wet-black holes
on roads you can never know
you never have them
but they always have you
till the day that you croak
it's no joke.

A working-class face glares back
at me from the glass, and lurches:
“oh, forgive me, on the streets I ran
turned sickness into unpopular song.”

And all these streets can do
is claim to know the real you
and you warn: If you don’t leave
you will kill, or be killed
which isn’t very nice
here, everybody’s friendly
but nobody's friends

O dear God when will I be
where I should be?
And when the palmist said :
“One Thursday you will be dead,”
I said:
“No, not me – this cannot be
dear God, take him, take them, take anyone
the still-born, the new-born
the infirm – take anyone
take people from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
– just spare me”

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