Pounding down, hard and cold,
I walk the washed out streets alone,
I'm wandering far away from home,
Ignoring the ringing telephone,
I set off looking for my throne,
I'm freezing right down to the bone,
My heart is fraying, barely sewn,
The broken stitches being shown,
You tore me down, I should have known,
But I let you use me like a clone,
Until I snapped and was outgrown,
And now I trip on cobblestones,
The tears that fall are always condoned,
And the pain ripples down to my anklebones,
And I run and run right out of the zone,
So I might have the luck to get a loan,
Then start all over on a new tone,
But I can't find the light that shone,
In my eyes, now full of woe,
Weary and tired of watching the foe,
And I trample the lawns, once neatly mown,
On my journey to find another home,
The rain, it pounds down hard and cold,
And I walk the washed out streets alone.
