Suburban Yellow - Slow Mass

We win one more pissing match

And march onto the north

Standing still in a sinking pool

Suburban yellow is our truth

Banged up and bent out

Of shape and place

Sleeping in a different house

A suburban felon is our youth

A new position

Inefficiently boxed in

Cyclical living

There’s nothing like getting up

Before dawn to start wasting your life

A lousy friend with crooked hands

A work of love in progress

Moral compass like burnt food

A work of love is finished