My throat is dry and scratchy again
Boy, I’m sure smokin’ ‘em down
Breathing through clogged up canals
Floating with the current, hoping for sleep
It’s like this every Sunday night now
And I know I have things to do
But getting up off this chair
Is harder than it used to be
Take another drink of the chlorinated water
That this city pumped out
So proud they are, to be keeping up with
The rest of the world
And I think of the country that I love
Only a few miles away
I moved all the way here
To be near to the place I hold dear
But it seems that I’m still too far away
After all