The Debt

The Debt.....

​The ceiling’s got a yellow eye that watches while you sweat,

Recording every frantic breath and every mounting debt.

The city is a landlord with a key inside your door,

Spilling gin and cold regret across the kitchen floor.

​You try to find a rhythm in the clicking of the latch,

But the silence is a gasoline that’s waiting for a match.

The neighbors are a chorus of a thousand hollow coughs,

While the needle of the afternoon just mocks and rips and scoffs.

​It’s the rattle in the window, it’s the shadow in the hall,

It’s the way the plaster crumbles from the pressure of it all.

The streetlights are the ulcers of a sky that’s gone to seed,

Feeding on the frantic nerves of every soul in need.

​Don’t look for any mercy in the rattle of the train,

It’s just a dirty metal ghost that’s screaming in your brain.

The city’s got your number and it’s carved into the bone,

A love that’s built of rusted iron—won't leave you the fuck alone.