#121 (or These streets of men)

These are the streets of men
Smelling lemon and cheap alcohol
Pouring another drink from their plastic cup
Laughing in a false spark of joy

All the girls are already taken
There are only men in the sidewalks
They bump you walking forward
Last cry of their manhood

Perhaps the girls just went home
without someone to bare their chest
They can’t descend to the bottom
At least they can’t be seen that way.

I’ve seen two girls with their hands crossed
Nevertheless they seemed lonely
There you go, another hopeless evening
But you still got someone to lay your fingers

They walk looking straight, ignoring
All the men on their way, shouting
Praises to girls with no name
Soon they’re back to the streets of men

To them, the leftovers, is all that remains
Celebrating the loneliness they share
Nobody says a word but we all know
The sun is rising and they’ll sleep alone

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