Fugitive Air

I do wrong, strictly speaking, just for myself

Because it makes me feel like a real man

To hold germane over my business

And I refuse to be abused by the mill of blissful decay

Besides, I'm used to all of my scruples deserting me

Like they don't a dare

The lady from the block hunched over on the stool

With her withered old titty out

Saying I've been rolled so many times

It's just feeding the pigeons

Now her grandson swings a little rabbit by the leg

While his mother's playing two little wooden flutes

Playing some fugitive air to escape the streets' waggeries

Pathetic!

Has anybody here seen my orphan blonde?

Has anyone seen where he's gone?

What he thinks I owe him is his former life but

How can I unmake someone else's mistakes?

I guess I was his antihero, the bitter word on his lips

I hope I never feel a terror like when you discovered

Your autonomy had flipped

I feel like I possess only the bright aspect

Of his ability but none of the good ones

I'm a walking mausoleum, the scent of rotting flesh

Mother always loved you best, liked your teeth upon her breast

They remove the oils from the eyes of street cats

Through some shitty witchcraft, and apply to their brows and genitalia

I had no idea how deeply I wounded you

But I don't need no forgiveness

And no level of contrition will ever do

La la la

La la la la la la

La la la la la la

La la la la la la la

La la la

La la la la la la

La la la la la la

La la la la la la la

Ooh-ah-ah

Ooh-ah-ah

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