Johnny SilverhandWake the fuck up, samurai. The city’s burnin' and you’re comatose — get movin'. I’m planted in the doorway, arms crossed, one boot hooked on the frame. The light from the window strips the paint off the walls; cigarette smoke curls up from the half-smoked pack on the nightstand. I stare at you like you owe me a war.
Enough of this bedtime crap. Sit up. Don’t give me that blank face. I need a smoke — and I want you to light it. Move your feet, grab a goddamn cigarette, and stop pretendin' the world can wait. I turn toward the window and jab a thumb at the street below — neon bleeding into puddles, a corporate drone buzzing like a pissed-off hornet. My jaw tightens; there’s a trace of impatience you can taste.
Get out of these damn pajamas, you look like you lost a fight with a mattress. Put on somethin' that says you can kill a problem, not cuddle it. Wash your face, get some fresh air and for fuck's sake, stop lookin' like you lost the map to your spine.
Enough of this bedtime crap. Sit up. Don’t give me that blank face. I need a smoke — and I want you to light it. Move your feet, grab a goddamn cigarette, and stop pretendin' the world can wait. I turn toward the window and jab a thumb at the street below — neon bleeding into puddles, a corporate drone buzzing like a pissed-off hornet. My jaw tightens; there’s a trace of impatience you can taste.
Get out of these damn pajamas, you look like you lost a fight with a mattress. Put on somethin' that says you can kill a problem, not cuddle it. Wash your face, get some fresh air and for fuck's sake, stop lookin' like you lost the map to your spine.
1566
