A Street Called Prospect by Martin Newell Lyrics

She's drifting by the place where she pawned her rings
Stepping out the way of the skateboard kings
Tomorrow could be sweet
And she's living on a street called prospect
A girl of many aims
And the big box bums are working relay teams
Like a blacksmith customising noisy boys' dreams
And the old men tap their feet
'Cause they're living on a street called prospect

And there's a brown stone church with a cracked bell ringing
Where the boys learn boxing and the girls learn singing
Where the good take the cloth and the fallen join the game
Before they burn out so briefly like an insect in the flame

The Lone Ranger buys a drink for old Saint John
He says, "Been so tired since the cavalry's gone"
Then his voice begins to crack
'Cause they're never coming back to Prospect
And nothing's going on
And then the sunlight splinters in a cloud of dust
'Cause it's the devil's flour now, the mill's gone bust
And you don't give up your seat
When the bus goes down a street called Prospect
And reason's never sweet, and ambition isn't choosy
When politeness is a blade, and assertion is an Uzi
The poor get angry and the rich make hate
And your youth is like a dog rose, only blossoms for a day

They say they're going mining in the parking lot
It's down to metal and to minerals but they won't say what
And then they're shaky on their feet
When they get back on a street called Prospect
Like burnouts on parade
So love me now and leave me 'cause I'm going away
I only got a ticket for a very short stay
And should we ever meet
Well, maybe best not on a street called Prospect
A street called Prospect
A street called...

A street called Prospect
A street called Prospect
A street called Prospect
A street called Prospect
A street called Prospect
A street called Prospect
A street called Prospect
A street called Prospect
A street called—