My radiator's drippin oil
The springs are comin off the back
You want to know what I'm driving
Come ride in my used Cadillac.
Gas is comin out of the hubcaps
Chrome's comin off the door
The spare tire's under my kitchen sink
I got a stick shift on the floor,
The aerial was gone this mornin
The muffler was missin' by noon
Disconnectin' the headlights this evenin
I drive by the light of the moon.
One or two things still were missin
When I signed on the dotted line
Disregardin the pump that was hidden
I had a feelin' that it was all mine.
I'm drivin, even survivin
If you think it's a curious fact
That I'm out on the road drivin at all
Come ride in my used Cadillac.
walking a housing estate
out in the outskirts
of dublin. picking out
trip points and knocked over
signposts, tree-root-
bucked paving stones,
bits of awry-bent
machinery. the sun
makes the place look quite
good though - like tattoos.
like a well chosen
shirt. there is something
in style in the sun upon
especially paving
stones. and as long
as the drains work, and the lights
and the locks work, who cares
if the grass shows a weed?
I could collapse, collapse hard
like a flower, against these
stone gutters and walls.
could watch men work
their cars, play their music to shared
parking spaces. and kids
pulling bricks from the loose
mortar walls. this block
is an egg of apartments -
you think that the world
comes from making a place
have no character? and the birds
in their nests on the treeline -
logging complaint calls
when they wake people up.
