"how is it living in an area like this?"
shattering stones make no noise
you didn't see them fly by
only at the court's face
your hands, pulsing anxiously at time
would feel the small suburban stone soul
whispering ease into your ears
strings of hair are all they play on
your travel card is your ticket to talk
only in the small rough palm of the cross
a fresh sense of destiny and yet at times he
would feel the small suburban stone soul
wondering to his unknown neighbour
small suburban soul
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