More Like A Situation

Which bloody fucking ones of these are pieces of me?
The entire goddamn street is scattered with me.

What the hell was I thinking?
As if I would not get my ass whooped black and blue by singing those things out loud.
A break in the clouds.
A pitiful excuse for a go signal.
No one really wants anything different.
So let me just get my shit together, gather my limbs, broken glasses and teeth, spit the metal out of my mouth and get real.

No, no.
This is not...definitely not a problem.
More like a situation.
Let me just walk the fuck away from here.
As far as possible from the mercury street.