Fifty shades of grey I see,
I take my morning walk.
Asphalt, concrete, cobble stones
If only they could talk.
Spat out gums and cigarette butts,
Paper, broken glass.
Dandelions, shells of nuts,
A penny, picked up fast.
When the sun comes up
And the sweat starts trickling
And the sky turns hazy pale.
And my feet just move
In that shuffling groove
And the sidewalk tells its tale
And the sidewalk tells its tale.
Someone sprayed „Don’t loose your shit“
on a wall the other night.
Followed by „God’s handling it“
Believe in it – alright.
Thrillers in a plastic crate
put out before the last rain.
Dumped outside an entrance gate
Next to a dog piss stain.
When the sun comes up
And the sweat starts trickling
And the sky turns hazy pale.
And my feet just move
In that shuffling groove
And the sidewalk tells its tale
And the sidewalk tells its tale.
Buskers, beggars, businessmen,
tourists, students, punks
Townhall square at half past ten
dogs bark at pigeon gangs.
Same old faces passing by
like thirty years ago.
Born here, lived here, doomed to die
here, end of hometown show.
When the sun comes up
And the sweat starts trickling
And the sky turns hazy pale.
And my feet just move
In that shuffling groove
And the sidewalk tells its tale
And the sidewalk tells its tale.
© Carsten Beckmann 2019