Out of your personal scripture, philomel, she comesYou sing songs
to everyone about love and law and gunsBut paint a dirtier
pictureAnd I think you know the one: you're not saving
anyoneYou're not saving anyoneOh, just open your doorBe a
flaneur once moreYou're not walking anymoreYou're not
talking anymoreOverturning the stricturesYou leave yourself with
none of your sinners to be savedOr your comforts that you
craveIt's a volatile mixture: the zealot and the rumSo you
knew it couldnt be wonStill hard lost because hard runSo
here's to things that consoleAnd to at least knowing your
role, and to never being doneYou're a rabbit on the runNe,
ne travaillez jamais:No, never work, that's what they
sayMais ne, ne, ne, nous n'arretons pas:No, dont lets stop
until it's doneYou're a rabbit on the run
Send "2nd Ave, 11 A.m." Ringtone to your Cell 
