They all look the same
These suburban stops
With the criss cross crowds
Huddled in the cuckolded shelters.
Be they far near
Or in this home grown town
They all speak the language of despair
As they await their final journey.
SMO 1988
They all look the same
These suburban stops
With the criss cross crowds
Huddled in the cuckolded shelters.
Be they far near
Or in this home grown town
They all speak the language of despair
As they await their final journey.
SMO 1988