We've frowned at the weather
And the shoes that are on our feet
Take a look at a young boy or a young girl
That's got nothing to eat
And all wrapped up in the american dream,
In a house with a white picket fence
But the streets are cold, for the lonely souls
That's where they pay their rent

We don't care about discussion,
No there's no need to argue
Use the concrete as a cushion,
You'll want someone to talk to

10,000 miles below
And I can fly to where I want to go
And I can see, I have
10,000 more to go

Sometimes when it's raining,
And the light ain't shining in
I don't bother complaining,
Only god knows where I've been
And all tied down in the american dream
In a house with a white picket fence
But the streets are pain, they remain the same,
And then..