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letra de poor, poor fish - under the rug

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a bum and a bucket of concrete
beneath a crack in the slabs of the
gotham-grey freeway;
where have i found myself?

friends in far places
scroll through pictures of faces
huh, they all have some ends now
these pictures don’t look like my friends somehow

oh. there i go again
i can’t shake the grim:
critical and filled to the brim

missing the sea cliffs
i bought a couple of small fish
but a week and they’d got in a big fight
one tore the other to bits

poor, poor fish
must it always come down to this?
this fight to exist
must it always come down to this?

but there i go again
can’t shake the grim:
critical and filled to the brim
but then again . .
then again . .
poor poor poor poor (flush)

- under the rug

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