Which bloody f**ing ones of these are pieces of me? The entire goddamn street is scattered with me. What the hell was I thinking? As if I would not get my a** whooped black and blue by singing those things out loud. A break in the clouds. A pitiful excuse for a go signal. No one really wants anything different.
So let me just get my sh** together, gather my limbs, broken gla**es and teeth, spit the metal out of my mouth and get real. No, no. This is not...definitely not a problem. More like a situation. Let me just walk the f** away from here. As far as possible from the mercury street.