I ran out

I ran out one night
and walked down Webster st
No one was anywhere to be seen
It was silent like a church in hell.

Down by the park
I heard the iron creaking
and a figure sang
"this city will be the death of me"

I sat on the creaking swing
and thought about a way out
This city will be the death of me
if I don't watch out
these fences and streets will eat me up

Without your love I would wither
so run with me away from
the silence and cold of this
city

But you wont love
and the tears will start to scold
my heart in a box
and time stood still
maybe in a different time
I would have loved this city

But now the iron feels like a jail cell
Where once I would swing
now looks dead and cold.
This city is sucking the
Life
from me
and the rain begins to cleanse
but there's nothing left.