Greying streets whisper cold dust, a different time Their utterance echoes,carves on my glass mind. They hush a hymn so soft, it dangles like innocence, from an old child. I, an antique vase made to their design.
Greying streets whisper, seasons of another child. Incumbent, she strays like a fishing line. Crushing confusion of my dithering mind. She escapes like a poem, lacing my lungs with intricately sewn thoughts breaking the bonds of time.
in the dark of night you maybe looking for a fight the streets are uneasy one word to the wise one must never compromise to listen to twisted lies was a D.J. junkie from back in the day spinning records
Homeless vets fill our streets dealing with addictions they cannot beat Stand on street corners begging for food Often standing with broken down shoes It makes me sad to see what happened to them Returned home to anger and hate
Faded prima donnas pave the way God’s drunk and moves with a swagger Another kid bites a burning bullet today He never stops to stare or linger Proven faithful lie their way to the altar Another lamb to bring to