On The Street's I Ran - Morrissey

Oh, a working class face glares back

At me from the glass and lurches

Oh, forgive me, on the streets I ran

Turned sickness into popular song

Streets of wet black holes

On roads you can never know

You never have been but they always have you

Till the day that you croak

It’s no joke

Oh, a working class face glares back

At me from the glass and lurches

Oh, forgive me on the streets I ran

Turned sickness into unpopular song

And all these streets can do

Is to claim to know the real you

And warn if you don’t leave you will kill or be killed

Which isn’t very nice

Here everybody’s friendly

But nobody’s friends

Oh dear God, when will I be where I should be

And when the palmist said

«One Thursday you will be dead»

I said: «No, not me, this cannot be

Dear God, take him, take them, take anyone

The stillborn

The newborn

The infirm

Take anyone

Take people from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Just spare me!»