An Argument With Myself

Having an argument with myself down Elizabeth Street Bumping into backpackers and Struggling with the parameters And the basic construction of my feet Kicking beer cans and rubbish along the concrete Crossing the street and crossing galaxies of taxis and Backseats and drunk suites and half-Greeks Shut up, no, you shut up! What's the matter, take a number, Buttercup! Every time I hear you say "Fuck it" I would remind you of the photo in your pocket How long it's been there, two years, I bet Have a sniff, it smells like a cigarette When was the last time you smoked a cigarette? And more importantly, who did you smoke it with? Having an argument with myself down Victoria Street Passing the market now, the windows in neon illuminating my path to defeat Your grinning face scaring a poor parakeet Your heavy breathing scaring the wind So rich on Summer and so sweet Fuck you, no, you fuck you! You didn't come here for nothing, did you? I know that's what you've been saying lately But let me draw attention to a exhibit B A honeysuckle in a plastic envelope And put the flower underneath a microscope See what's written on the petals Look closer, that's her initials And now I'm walking by Bev and Mick's backpacker hostel on Victoria Street Where it's reggae night tonight And the backpackers are pouring out like a tidal wave of vomit I have to sit down on the curbside and count the coins in my pocket See if I have enough cash to take a taxi home ...No Alright, yes, can we just try to figure this out? Can we just talk about this, please? Nah, I don't wanna talk to you OK, you wanna keep fighting? Yeah, I wanna keep on fighting Alright, fair enough 1, 2, 3, here we go! Having an argument with myself down Queensbury Street The lonely light from the town hall clock tower Chime of the bells striking 1, 2, 3 And it took shape in the form of an image in the form of a living memory The way her shadow used to walk by your side In a different time, in a different city Oh please, no you oh please! I wanna see you drop down on your knees I wanna see your hand waving "Farewell" Why you hittin' yourself, why you hittin' yourself? "History repeats itself twice," said Marx First as tragedy, then as farce But where did i find the source To make history of a love, a love like ours?