Russian punks on speed

Emptiness, waiting at the window
Like a half born child
Reaching in, reaching in and touching something deep inside
Wide awake, staring eyes that look at you and pierce your skin
Work their way, deep within
Something blue, something nearly new

TV dolls, Russian punks on speed
And little painted boys
Spitting out, curious descriptions of painted noise
Wide awake, walking through a wilderness of hopes and dreams
Reams and rhymes, signs and schemes
Walking blind, walking through your mind