The Backwoods

In east Atlanta The city never dies But it sleeps in shifts From three until five The bars are rancid The sewer grates are worn And every street you turn down Seems like one you've seen before I don't know what I want But I know that I don't want this anymore And in the backwoods The mothers walk their dogs While their sons sit in circles And pass things through the fog Things don't really pass here The progress is all forced I don't know if I've said this But I've thought it all before I don't know what I want But I know that I don't want this anymore If you figure out what you need You'll get little hits of it in between The waiting and the wanting Then you're waiting and wanting again Then you figure out what you're seeing Not as it seems hiding in between All the waiting and the watching Then you're waiting and watching it come to an end