Broken Bottle-Glass Sidewalks

The broken bottle-glass sidewalks, they glisten in the sun
On a sunny Sunday morning it seems I'm the forgotten one
Oh Lord, what am I doing in this strange and distant town?
If I had the money, I'd be flying home

The whispers of the people that pass me once or twice
Are propelled by the wind but are animated and precise
Some are going uptown and some are going down
If I had the money, I'd be flying home

I hear a silver bird suspendеd overhead
It's going far beyond whеre these bottle sidewalks end
I am going backwards where there is no sound
If I had the money, I'd be flying home