there's this broad road 
paved with oak leaves 
narrow sidewalks 
curbstones like crooked teeth 
and yet [bad word] 
in slippery shoes 
with threadbare soles 
to the rythm and blues 
the rhythm swings 
with the beat and sings 
this last years song 
a singalong that we sang too long 
now on sore feet 
next on sore knees 
scraping your hands 
graveled streets 
with bleeding hands 
you gather all your stuff 
and you leave behind 
what never brought you luck 
you're dashing from 
shadows on 
black painted walls 
you're reciteing from 
your regrets on 
a trees unsound bark 
you'll never know 
when it will show 
it's face or rip apart 
the connection between your 
head and heart 
and on that day 
just be prepared 
and spit the words right at it's face 
the words you saved that night that day 
and if you raise your voice 
you'll might end up with 
a synapse that will make you feel quite reliefed 
but without a word to say 
you will surely end up with 
a million others that will leave you standing there 
forever in grief 
it meant nothing to them 
but meant everything to you 
before they changed it all again 
the rhythm swings 
with the beat and sings 
this last years song 
the rhythm swings on my blues and sings 
a singalong that we sang to long