The Suburbs Of Birds
The summer here will come late, I know And when it comes it might last forever But I have the man on the radio to keep the rain out And the piano in the corner to warm the flowers for the spring Every time I look from the window I think of the factories Over on the East side of the city There was a fire, of chemicals and grass not long ago The ground is still charred, it nearly reached the brothels The casino was saved by some quick thinking A tree fell down I wondered if it hurt, or if the birds cared The suburbs of the birds, as boring but as flammable as our own When I heard them talking of the fire on the radio I wondered how long it would take for them to put on a song It wasn't very long, but I don't remember what it was I was looking at an atlas at the time, at the west coast of America The area that I have a curious fascination with I would never like to go there, but if i did I am sure I would enjoy it I have a friend who went there, she hired a car...