All is set in their places

Dirty Russians
broken bicyclettes
and fresh rolled cigarettes
why the hell are things so much better
once they've stopped making any sense
and why can i feel so lonely
when i know you rest on that bed of eyes
and every morning, i prop up onto my side
and realize why its them i hide
that young generation of ideas
that ill sew into the ground
and wait for the sprouts to rise
from ashes of my life I've hidden in water
tides changing and tired
of the moon pulling their heart strings
i guess the only thing you can do
is spit and shout at the wind
for being so indecisive
and holding back these tires made of my hands
when i try to escape what i know i cannot
so bakst, damnit, shit and Hollywood
ill wait until dead man winters laid to rest
until i submerge my love into the seas
and let it cement into the wreckage
of a crab ship dead and gone
carried down by one of those waves we all run
caused by pulled strings and one month cycles
reacting from those sprouts i planted in your eyes
and running on ideas lodged in running
all lying in those few things i know
and all left alone in learning how to live