Absent father, suffer mother
missing hand that held the other
breath of life, given to smother
the future of sister and brother

There's a boy near a highway
He claims to be queer
He's selling his soul for the food he needs dear
There's a frame with no windows
Filled with his peers
They light up their glass pipes to feed their own fears
There's a mother with babies
Whose diapers are smeared
They catch hell for crying
She slaps off their tears
There's an old man who's downtown
He brown-bags his beer
There's a rich girl
She's wasted
Never dreamed she'd be here
There's a fat *****
She's worthless
Just selling disease
Tear down these old crack-towns
Don't need more of these

Some days you have the ability,
others on a shopping spree.
Dressing clean, ultra supreme.

To live is just a dream that only you can see with binoculars.
I live in our own aura, the World and I. Where we can kickback, sleek the ruffles out of our curtains.
With blood sleeking down the glass window pane, the beginning of a crystal clear scheme
with crimson stains.
A passing by expert, I have yet to earn what removed hastes to which I should come to a slower pace.
Push you into my fool, a clown to a stalemate.
Copping everything on a shopping spree, my feet don’t touch the ground, they elevate.

Now I’m trying to jam using these hands, but one grips at fear.
I don’t have time for tainted misused feelings.

I have to make them squeal for me. Hide in the bushes, they want to be seen with me. Using correct of muscle, I hold me. Carrying all these packages, I’m the one you want.