Distant voices clash
In this crowded room
Words fade to din
Here with you
Distant gazes cross
This empty room
And each moment aching
Here with you
Where I only feel more alone
"I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. A dollar buys a nickle's worth. Banks are going bust. Shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter. Punks are running wild in the street and there's nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do and there's no end to it. The air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat. We sit watching out tvs while some local newscaster tells us that today we had fifteen homicides and sixty three violent crimes as if that's the way its supp
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