We used to hide out in the sewers
or on the gravel topped high school roof
in search of the radio station
that would deliver us the truth

when I first heard Elvis Costello
it was in your older brother's room
that's where The Clash just blew the lid off
they just cut right through

and that was something to hold on to
while aiming at the moon to shoot
blasting along in blind spots
on every suburban avenue

Driving all night through the industrials
twisting the dial on the radio
holding on for just one song of redemption
no matter how small

We were always looking at the smaller picture
sold on the biggest screen
couched in comfort creatures
in custom domestic sleaze

We were the articulate drunks
and the inarticulate saints
under the shadow of the bomb
only to pirouette and faint

all photos by Denis Bradette

and though we were not born to run
we were born to drive away
in satellite city where I'm from
you're always a runaway