I’m strung out like a rubber band on X.

Weakened by the taste on my tongue,

Of another cheap fulfillment.

I’m standing at the corner store.

Looking out on the Brooklyn roads,

In the dead summer heat.

It’s too late or too early…

For people who have any sense, to be walking the streets

But I can tell you baby that it’s alright with me.

Flying high on a bathroom tile.

Strung out by the sight to my vision

Of another night of sickness.

I’m dangling on the edge of the sofa.

Holding on to another empty bottle.

Looking on all the dead faces .

Of those lost, in the T.V.

It’s either too late or too early

So the news is all to be seen

But I can tell you baby that it’s alright with me.

Weakened by the smell of reefer

On the stairway

Toughened by the story I’m creating of

A boy fashioned, after tough love

I see myself going down

But it’s a harder climb going up

Tripping on more than just

A hard night’s work on the street

Where I’m all you can see

But I can tell you baby that it’s alright with me.