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Drive-Thru

There’s a city I know where the river flows fast

And the cars do the same as they hurry on past

The boarded-up windows of grimy old inns

And corners that stink of the dullest of sins

No railings or fences are built in this town

Though we all know, come autumn, the children will drown

The scrawl of graffiti spells out countless feuds

And every day’s dawn is a terrible truth

Of the sour resentment that stews in souls here

Though you smile at the tourists, don’t show them the fear

But none of them stay here, at least not for long –

They leave here in search of some happier song

And the children who beamed from the speeding back-seats

I would watch from the kerbside, and wish they were me.