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City streets, late spring,
where smoke covers everything;
that's where we push our eyes
in front of ourselves

City streets, late spring,
Where smoke covers everything:
That's where we push our eyes,
In front of ourselves.

For being true, for being hurt.

City streets in late spring,
Where smoke covers everyone and everything.
Heavy winds won't bother us,
It won't break no trees, it won't break no bones.

City streets in late spring,
Where smoke covers everyone and everything.
Heavy winds won't bother us,
It won't break no trees, it won't break no bones.

Heavy winds: it won't break no trees, it won't break no bones.

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Give Me Beauty… Or Give Me Death!

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