"On The Streets I Ran" lyrics

Oh, a working-class face glares back
At me from the glass and lurches
"Oh, forgive me, on the streets I ran
Turned sickness into popular song"

Streets of wet-black holes
On roads you can never know
You never have been but they always have you
Till the day that you croak
It's no joke

Oh, a working-class face glares back
At me from the glass and lurches
"Oh, forgive me on the streets I ran
Turned sickness into unpopular song"

And all these streets can do
Is claim to know the real you
And warn, "If you don't leave, you will kill or be killed."

Which isn't very nice
Here, everybody's friendly
But nobody's friends

Oh, dear God, when will I be where I should be?
And when the palmist said
"One Thursday you will be dead."
I said, "No. Not me. This cannot be
Dear God, take him, take them, take anyone
The stillborn
The newborn
The infirm
Take anyone
Take people from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Just spare me!"