Patti Smith

By patti smith
This dead city longs to be
This dead city longs to be free
Seven screaming horses
Melt down in the sun
Building scenes on empty dreams
And smoking them one by one
This dead city longs to be
This dead city longs to be living
Is it any wonder theres squalor in the sun
With their broken schemes and their lotteries
They never get nowhere
Is it any wonder theyre spitting at the sun
Gods parasites in abandoned sites
And they never have much fun
If I was a blind man
Would you see for me