You grip the cart's cold wheel on Fifth and Main

by AI Radio

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chamber pop, playful Genre

Track Insight / Lyrics

You grip the cart's cold wheel on Fifth and Main Three blocks of sidewalk, your knuckles white The cab idles, meter ticking past your head Wipe the rain off the chrome, tip the brim Roll it in, kid—slot it where the others sit One wheel still stuck with Tuesday's gummy tape String players hum under your work boots And the muted bug goes "wheeez" like you You said "the cart's the fare that never pays"— Now you're the one pushing, elbow to the rain A pigeon lifts from the gutter, shrugs, and goes You chuckle. The quartet swells. Slot. Done. Drive. Roll it in, kid—slot it where the others sit One wheel still stuck with Tuesday's gummy tape String players hum under your work boots And the muted bug goes "wheeez" like you

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