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Opus of Prince Arthur and St. Laurent, No. 03
Movement 9, CODA, ("May 22")

The 55 rides its way up
And the blue parka-ed man comes for his routined coffee
Millions of ants are swarming the paths of this city,
Following their Queen of the Night
The heart of this city's flicker fade
Yellow, red, green, the cars come
Undeterred by the onset of rainstorms
At 1243am, this is it
Deep breath, swallow, dive into whatever was and whatever could be

Techno beats,
Bop bop bop bam
There goes the garbage truck
Where goes the Best Ass Contest?
Whenceforth comes the white Escalade
It's as if the ants built a new nest for their queen
Change is a constant
Like shifting seas and hopeful hearts
Queue up, wait your turn
As a friend walks out
And beauty walks in
Inexplicably and inextricably
I've thought of you all year
I moved on all year and I came back all year
The 55 is 363
100am
The 55 is 363 evermore

Fakeosity, a stigma to these trendsetters
Mass culture, mass society, the habitual harem is full of tossaways and vapidity
Throw aside the stranger like the two trashed cans of Budweiser
Let the bums take the rest,
Flashing police lights signal discomfort

"She needs time alone right now; she needs time to miss you,"
Says Chantelle in comforting her friend
I feel like I've heard that before, I feel like I'm waiting to be missed
We reflect on our first nights here
As she's just come back from a party
"She's beautiful, she's wild, but she treats you like shit," continues Chantelle
Cellphone conversations that I feel like I'm on the other end of
Over and over and over I've been
When you realise this network we create,
How do the bonds form?

Think back to the first cup of coffee I got from her
En regardant les fourmis
There it is, the Best Ass is now Coors Light
The silver tour where you could win
Partout ou ca brasse
The sixteen year-old who drank too much
The sixteen year-old who couldn't get into the club
Ultimate failure and ultimate rejection
A call to arms
Brown eyed brunette beautiful butterfly in the white shirt
Shed your chrysalis for me

We swap songs over Bjork's Human Nature
It hasn't been a passing chance
Or a simple twist of fate
Like a mirror to myself
Reflection skewed from my first encounter with myself
225
226
227
Counting down until I can quash these visions I had of you here
The streets, strewn with little handbills
Expired parties and VIP passes for everyone
Deflating my importance
It's the second time I've seen this Escalade pickup truck

The death of the streets
Brings the impending death of the coked-out, ponytailed man
The rich, the poor, the things I've seen
The people I've met
And as I've come to know this place,
I've become like Nighthawks in Phillies
I've become a 24 hour fixture at this intersection
Like the ants marching, before these crowded streets
I've become this corner-
     this coffeeshop, these banks, the restaurants and
     the ants-
That make flow the tears, as my heart bleeds for you