A spiralling can clatters on the concrete
He's reminded of the defeat of recent roots
Clueless eyes from the mother of mine
I fear, for hers have been made to cry
The bus arrives and I'm shy
I don't like this
The bus arrives
A rack of bones and lonesome lines of mine
A pack of eight and the fags inside
The bag is fabricated, it's sealed in lining with brittle lies
Just a little wine
Brittle lies
Stop your whining boy, play with toys
You toy with mine with your brittle lies
Just a little wine
Brittle lies
Stop your whining boy, go play with your toys
You toyed with mine with your brittle lies
With your brutal lies
Did you love her or miss the feeling?
Avoiding abyss from the nighttime ceiling
See what I'm seeing
A face that can't face his ambitions and varieties from acquired taste
Make haste my friend because I feel your pain
But, in actual sense you can make amends
To mend the present from the past tense
In actual sense you can make amends
To mend the present from past tense
Over the fence, around this block
I've seen it all, the same old story around
I've seen it all
Round the Block
Round the Block
Round the Block
I've seen it all around this Block
Round the Block
Round the Block
Round the Block
I've seen it all around this Block
Round the Block
Round the Block
Round the Block
I've seen it all around this block
The same old story round the block