This city is made of a million trips and I'm a runner.
I've whipped the blood out of my elbows,
And cooled down my lungs.
For every scar on my knees,
A piece of its sidewalks wonders if it still hurts.
You know it still hurts.
Once I'll be tired, I'll probably run away
But I know these streets still have got something for me.
Under the gray ground the grass suffocates
And never makes it to the surface
I know the feeling (too well)
Like fighting with your own shadows.
There's no way to escape from the poison running through your veins
The pavements taught us the way we are walking.
Alone, among seas of men and oceans of clowns
I'm keeping the circus away, just for a minute.
Count on me, I'll bury
What makes me feel like the other
Cowards, bastards, To yourself you can't lie.
You can't forget the greener grass that keeps your head away from here.
And the numerous scars, as many reminders that this city kills us in the end.
We suffocate and make do with gasping for air.
(This castle ain't home, these sidewalks ain't home,
This city will kill me in the end, there ain't no comfortable death.)