The birds kinda sound like sirens
The lakes, oh these are puddles of mud.

The spring sun is more a biting wind.
If the only sin is limitation,
I want to be pure and good.

The city around me shuts me down
The body I'm inside of doesn't let me out.

My empty reassurances left NYC
some time ago.

I am trying to still hold onto the illusion of hand holding
the mental kind
That's floating around Philadelphia
Long distance lobsters can't save me
Local emus can't fix it all

I can try to save myself
Or call my friend Charles
and probably annoy him.