I want to run, I want to hide
I want to tear down these walls that hold me inside
I want to reach out and touch the flame
Where the streets have no name
I went to where the streets have no name once.
It looked like a map, all streets with nothing but roads and the beginning of driveways, no buildings or fences or wires or trees. And, of course, no street signs.
It was a new housing development, on the edge of town – arable land being turned into a physically desperate wasteland on its way to becoming an emotionally desolate wasteland.
That’s right: U2 wrote the only song in history about wanting to be in the suburbs.
