Eliad Fridman Green - The Streets
The Streets
Eliad Fridman Green

In this beautiful, beautiful street
All movement shall stop in it's place.
Then the harsh, ceramic, silent will slice
as smoothly as our precious bread.
Then the morning, so moist, will dry out
as the one single beam lays it's rays.

Then a people shall be ghasping for air
as if just finished an ancient ride.
Yeah, this city's concrete belt- it is tight
It is definitely tight.
And the walls that were founded come crumbling down
as if knowing and right.

On this decadent, dying metropolin
Dropped boldly an absolute light
On this prodigal day, naturally, in the houses
No man could have died.
And no baby was born, it is clear and is known
that the streets are adrift
Out of sight.

Yeah, the streets are adrift
And are rising above like a magic carpet ride.
The walls that came down were built from the ground
by the legal and the wise
And the town knows not of beginnings nor ends
and the laines have closed down with demise.

And your hand seems to sing out of the wall
In a voice as fragrant as sage.
And your eyes bloom and shine like pearls of ice
On the lightning's gaze
And your weary head floats back up to the light
And your mouth whistles the old phrase

And the streets are adrift
Out of sight.

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