Corridor of Buildings (1995)

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Jason Gots

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She puts the glass up to her lips
I was hoping it'd be something more dramatic
In the kitchen where the faucet drips
And she is pointing
Out all the things that she wants to know the names of

And I'm combing out her hair
And the comb gets stuck and I pull hard and all the bristles break
We were laughing as we watched them all descending
And she says "honey, even we have our unhappy ending"

And I'm standing like an idiot on her front lawn
It's not romantic, because she's not even home
And the fat man passing by will not remember me
Leaning up against this leafless old suburban tree

And I got sick of changing shoes
So I put nails down through my feet
Then I lost everything I possibly could lose
And I walked down to the Bowery where they sold it back to me

And now I'm on my way to school
And I run into a girl on roller skates
Tossing pennies down between the subway grates
Onto the bald heads of the businessmen in suits
And she's telling me that her first name means 'fate'
And I'm explaining all the symbols on my boots

And there is nothing but the wind come down on the corridor of buildings
I'm riding on a bicycle to make my pay
Between the blue-gray steel and glass and brick and asphalt
I am trying to make my way

So I'm in the waiting room
And the smell of blood and disinfectant fills the air
In the house of death, the dying sit and stare
At the game show on the TV that the hospital provides for free

And it has got to be November
As I am walking down 3rd Avenue to Astor Place
Playing that little game inside my head
Where when people pass I try to look them in the face

He slips the rope around my neck
And I turn to ask if I could say a word or two before dying
It was simple, it was just what you'd expect
I asked my mother for forgiveness for my crime
And then I caught the people's eyes
And asked them which of them would not have done the same
In your place, I laughed, another young man dies
And I know it's entertainment, but it always seems a shame

And it seems my words are nothing but the wind come down the corridor of buildings
And there is nothing but the wind come down on the corridor of buildings
I'm riding on a bicycle to make my pay
Between the blue-gray steel and brick and glass and asphalt
I am trying to make my way

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