The Band Fuel

New York release me from my strata
The morning streams out an afterbirth of vodka
The dream of Julian Casablancas
Gyro salesmen and a stranger in my blanket
Awoken by drones
Amazon drones
Drones
I wake up in the flies and filth
That used to hold some truth in this town they built
Oh, I wake up from a champagne dream
Where I can blow my mind and forget about what’s in me
I wake up in a chaise lounge of cans
Evian bottle filled with urine in my right hand
Now we all wake from our champagne dreams
Where truth is the north and we’re all just what we seem, seem, seem