Concrete, steel, and plastic pile up around us as we try to find some clean air.
I don’t know where I belong anymore, but neither do you.
Why is it when we have time to think we have no money?
The birds don’t give a fuck if you’re rich or you’re poor; they’ll shit on you either way.
Is that what’s going on in heaven? Are you shitting on us from up high?
C & K 