City Calls lyrics

Oh the city calls its wild wastes its fortressed breeze to help In the park was Caravaggio's Christ who fucked the police and put an end to the price of automobile radio heists And did you want to help did you think you'd help? But your help was a hurt A motivational welt Wounds and their salts "And the ill milk in your bones and you whisper to your knees and your two broken collarbones: You want to take a photograph then take a photograph of me!"