We're Not Special, You And I

They're equals on oil stained concrete
Grinning madly at the chaos in front of them
The unmistakable scent of gasoline
The knowledge that tomorrow is just a dream.
Cigarettes on a bridge with day old bread
Sound of cars as they drive on past
Equals in the moonlight knowing nothing but pain
Laughing like hell since they still know their names.

She called herself a maid who wanders from place to place
A blatant lie he never spoke up about
But in the end she smirks and holds out her hand
Looking just like the one he cared for most
A brother gone never wanting to stay
In the end it's probably better that way.

Indirect kisses under the burning hot sun
The chaos just background noise to their screams
Loving the way freedom feels in the paradox

But during these summer days they have one thing
The ability to fly while even missing one wing.

She's running around telling lies for fun
Never wanting to admit knowledge of the girlfriend
Another girl attempting to love him when he's hers.
It's a form of self denial with paperback novels
And knowledge of the myths of a king
Lovely her scent of motor oil and music
Completely transforming her otherwise hard nature
A traveling cleaning woman for the public
Lies gone wrong for the attention of the sick.

He's trying to forget the absent brother
The one who held his very core within those hands
Showing that maybe a punk like him can actually make it
This world is full of pesticide and rotten candy
Sunscreen tastes just as good as hot cakes
Definitely when you're starving and napping on benches
Trying to get the grease of summer romance from his hair
While knowing full well that this just can't work
It's another cheap bottle of wine with a screw off cork.

Hold hands and shout nonsense at the cruelty of Earth
Knowing full well that they're doing just fine on their own
Because dammit being free never looked so good and perverted.

Then again... so do most broken dreams.