City Calls Lyrics

Oh the city calls its wild wastes
its fortressed breeze to help

In the park was Caravaggio's Christ
who f**ked the police and put an end to the price of automobile radio heists

And did you want to help did you think you'd help?

But your help was a hurt
A motivational welt
Wounds and their salts

"And the ill milk in your bones
and you whisper to your knees
and your two broken collarbones:
You want to take a photograph then take a photograph of me!"

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