It is bedtime in the city
Where if you squint your eyes real tight
The lights are pretty
Fireflies
Making moving streaks across the skies

I want my own magical compass in this dense population
I want to follow a philsopher
I want my hairstyle to be such a statement that no one has to ask what kind of music I listen to
I want my sneakers to announce what I believe, what I do and where I go

This city where everyone has an agent to speak for him
Cuff links and stripper heels that take ten percent

I don't
I get my hair cut at Fantasic Sam's for twenty four dollars I don't follow anyone, no philosophers no sneakers no stripper shoes

so guys always open with, what music do you listen to?
Sam doesn't help me make it obvious
if it ever could be.
I always answer
Everything


It is late at night
Bedtime in the city
And the heliocopters pass overhead
Touring these hills for insurgents
Or traffic

Or both