by labeling it something anonymous can become obvious
washed by a spring rain the street becomes a canvas painted by the lights
sometimes i wonder how much detail do we need to see the picture
that which we value is not necessarily what’s most important
i can hear the sounds but they don’t make any sense unless i listen
we live in shadows of memories rather than standing on the brick
it’s no longer red and has lost its true purpose i still stopped, quiet
sometimes we just need a subtle mechanism instead of brute force
there are moments when we need to be impolite and let out a roar
a small controlled flame warms us and reminds us of our ancestors
uptown jack 