On these streets
the bus is my chariot,
the driver my king.
He whisks me down
this bitter city.
A blind girl
on the sidewalk
may never know
how beautiful she is
or who is staring.
But I feel the eyes
scratching at my back
spiraling up my thighs
glaring at my expensive
boots.
On these strips of asphalt and
skin and blood
the eyes of the wandering
attempt a connection
but I am on a mission.
The streets
they know me by name.
I am beautiful...
I am a mangy bitch
in the same utterance.
On these streets
the bus is my chariot,
the driver my king.
He whisks me down
this bitter city.
the bus is my chariot,
the driver my king.
He whisks me down
this bitter city.
A blind girl
on the sidewalk
may never know
how beautiful she is
or who is staring.
But I feel the eyes
scratching at my back
spiraling up my thighs
glaring at my expensive
boots.
On these strips of asphalt and
skin and blood
the eyes of the wandering
attempt a connection
but I am on a mission.
The streets
they know me by name.
I am beautiful...
I am a mangy bitch
in the same utterance.
On these streets
the bus is my chariot,
the driver my king.
He whisks me down
this bitter city.
